Only Defense
by KaitlinDragon
Summary: When a certain security program finally has the ability to remove his helmet and speak again, everyone is surprised by his reluctance to do so. T just in case.
1. Prologue

Once, there was a program who fought for the Users.

Then there was the program who enforced Clu's reign and eradicated scores of innocent ISOs.

Now the faceless security program honestly did not know what he was as he sank into an endless, bottomless simulation program, the same that had started everything so many megacycles ago when from chance an isomorphic algorithm had been created and the end of Kevin Flynn and so many others began… The program was vaguely aware that there was surely some irony in his demise here, but right now he was vaguely aware of a lot of things and not very aware of anything.

He should ensure that Clu destroyed the treacherous User once and for all.

Error- prime directive violated.

Clu was the enemy. Clu! Traitor! Rectifier! _Mast-_ERROR. He had destroyed the system, the ISOs, Flynn's miracle-

_Flynn._

Even in the middle of the Sea, the middle of nowhere, digital or otherwise, he felt the rumble of the explosion, and somehow he felt that either way he had lost.

_The new expanse out before them was filled with shifting, moving, rolling code, constantly changing and experimenting, all the way to the distant I/O tower. Tron looked at it, curious._

"_What is the purpose of this… structure?" Many of Flynn's machinations eluded Tron, that was Users for you._

"_In the real- in the User world- life first occurred through chance. Maybe that could happen here to! Man, just think about it- digital life! Manifesting in the correct conditions!" Flynn must have noticed the look Tron was giving him, because he stopped, still grinning that carefree smile of his. _

"_Are you sure that allowing… _anything_ to just 'manifest' like that is a good idea?" The security program had doubts himself. Leaving things to chance had never been part of Tron's programming. Flynn, on the other hand, was the sort of User that just loved a little chaos, which made Tron wonder what he was doing trying to create the perfect system. Tron was pretty sure there was no such thing as perfection- perfection was static, but the Grid was constantly upgrading and changing like the rolling Sea of Simulation before him. The digital world was constantly changing- that was good, he was certain of it. If things stayed the way they had been he would still be living in the basic, occasionally lagging world of the old Encom Grid. He sighed internally, listening to Kevin ramble about the newest sector of the city under way and an idea for a new admin program. Users knew best, he supposed._

Experimentally the program, suffering damage from the effects of his light jet's violent deresolution, began to weakly kick in the streams of code, which manifested almost like 'water,' which Flynn had told him all about- User- Directive 12 destroy Use-ERROR CORRUPTION DETECTED PRIMARY DIRECTIVE OVERRIDE: FIGHT FOR THE USERS. Shaking his head as if to clear the scattered codes and directives, the program continued to kick and pull upwards, though each motion further drained his remaining intact functions._ I won't last long. _When was the last time he had a thought for himself, no matter how morbid? Who was he anyway? All his memory files seemed to almost be shattered. He recalled Flynn- the name summoned clashing prompts as usual- calling him… calling him… _Tron, what have you become? _

_SNAP. _His damaged processor finally rebooted, and everything came back in a static-laden rush- _- _as his head broke through the surface of the Sea and he gasped, simulated breath ragged behind his obsidian helmet. He was once called Tron… then Clu broke him and put the pieces back together in his own way… _Clu made me perfect…didn't he? _That was what Rinzler had been programmed to know- he was perfect, Clu had fixed him. But this… this wasn't perfect at all. It was far too painful. The confusion and pain was replaced by white-hot anger in a nanosecond, burning like the outer blade of his disks- _traitor! He killed the ISOs! He killed me, too! _

_Flynn was long gone by now, heeding his friend's last words. Clu slammed his disk into Tron's chest, shattering the T-formed pixels at the base of his neck, but pulled the blow before it derezzed him entirely. Every circuit of his body screamed in pain, and his vision clouded with error messages. He couldn't move, couldn't speak- _NO. _He fought for the Users, damn it! Had to get up. Combat sequences damaged. Had to derezz this murderous glitch once and for all. He was living on fury, pain and a little justified fear right now. Clu had stood up, now several feet away, and Tron sprung to his feet clutching his chest, pixels spilling through his fingers, or at least he tried to. More of, he staggered upright, poised to throw the Black Guard's disk, when he realized with some horror that Clu not only had his identity disk, he was editing the code. _

Almost to the shore. So close. Pull, kick, loop back again… he was fading, each stroke slower as his drained systems began to lag. Finally, each nanosecond a megacycle, solid code beneath his gloved fingers, their circuits flickering weakly as he dragged himself out of the Sea. Power levels critical. Emergency shutdown initiated. He let the breath seep from him, sighing in exhausted relief that he would not spend the rest of his runtime sinking into darkness. If he had been more conscious at that moment, more lucid, he would have questioned the wisdom of shutting down when he was so low on power and so badly damaged, but right now he couldn't even handle sitting upright. The security monitor didn't fight the black, sweet lack of everything that swallowed the world and gave him a reprieve from _everything _that had happened…


	2. Lost

10101010101

_System rebooting. Initiating startup sequences. _Oh, Users, he could not remember ever feeling this horrible… actually, as his memory files proved, he had felt much worse on certain occasions of the past, but still. Eyes slowly focusing on the grains of code he was laying on, feet still in the Sea, he finished rebooting and with some horror realized he had no idea how long he'd been in standby. With more effort than should have been necessary, he pulled himself into a sitting position, and began to try to diagnose the shattered mess of code, corruption and damage that made up his source code. So much was damaged- he couldn't fix it, Clu had made sure of that, but maybe if he could just sort it out enough to untangle Rinzler from whoever he really was. _Fight for the Users _wasn't an awful lot to go on, and part of him resisted the directive- _Corruption detected. Unit Rinzler fights under CLU- directive 12, destroy the Users_. The security monitor would have probably stayed like that for the next several cycles, locked in an internal battle that he could neither win nor lose, but he was not the only program left on the Grid. Doggedly trying to remove the endless corrupted code from his programming, he was unaware of the distant sound of a lightcycle derezzing and the footfalls of an approaching program.

What was this? Kaps was a search engine designed to scour the grid for data and programs now that the information terminals had shut down. He was investigating the Sea's shore for possible signs of what had happened to CLU and the Users, as well as the infamous Rinzler and possibly a surviving ISO. Kaps knew the rumors- but he wanted real hard data, not gossiping Sirens who had other interests with him… but he tried not to think about that too much. His vigilant manual work along this area had yielded nothing, but he kept trying. Something big had happened out there, and he had his query: what happened to CLU and the Users? No search engine worth his identity disk would just shrug and walk off after a query had been given to them. It had been a long time, so long, and the Grid was deteriorating every passing megacycle. He was sure the Users were gone for good this time. What would they want to do with a place like this? Kaps wished he could just transfer to another system, just help somebody find their archived files and have some nice pure energy on a regular basis…

_Focus, Program! There is work to be done and stuff to be found! _Kaps suddenly stopped his cycle, quickly derezzing it and silently padding forward, cautious. What sort of program would be sitting out on the shore of a virus-laden Sea, far from any energy? Kaps' 'possible hit' sense was tingling- this weird program might have a few answers, _or a light disk for my head, _said the voice of caution, the main thing that had kept Kaps free of the Games or Rectification for so many megacycles. Dimming his annoyingly visible blue circuits, keeping low to the ground, the program snuck forward towards the unaware stranger, who seemed almost totally devoid of circuitry himself, and whose face remained obscured by a Games helmet. That should've set off a few warning bells, but Kaps was really curious now.

How to introduce himself while appearing non-threatening and not appearing an easy target? Kaps paused, unsure. The decision was usually fight or flight, and the answer typically fairly obvious. He never got the chance.

_Possible combatant approaching. Standby for CLU's- ERROR. CLU is the enemy- ERROR- _The security monitor whirled up from where he'd been sitting cross-legged in one fluid blur of black with faint lights flickering between orange and blue- not that Kaps noticed- all he saw was the white hot edge of TWO disks- _Oh Users no! Not him! _In a well practiced, if ungraceful motion, he ducked and rolled away, noting there was no cover on the barren stretch of shore, while grabbing his own disk. But Rinzler didn't seem himself- his hands were shaking, and he had multiple pixilated gashes across his thin black frame. The program looked straight at Kaps- who had the creepy feeling of eyes locking onto Kaps' from behind that omnipresent helmet. He gracefully, if waveringly, brought his disks up into his famous double-disk stance. Kaps shifted, ready to give Rinzler hell before derezzing-

And the enforcer collapsed, lights flickering out once and for all as he shut down from what Kaps deduced was an excess of damage coupled with a shortage of energy. Shrugging, the search engine rapidly shifted gears from _fighting for life _to _get some answers. _Warily he poked CLU's favorite pet with his boot, but gained no response. Rinzler was out cold and, Kaps noticed with a stab of almost-pity, beginning to derezz. The gashes where slowly getting worse. With not even enough energy to maintain the most basic of functions, the faceless killer would deteriorate and crash. Kaps was torn. If he brought back the distinctive twin disks he would be heralded as some sort of hero, and free energy would never be an issue again. But, there were those who, even without rectification had been loyal to CLU and would see him as a traitor best killed… and his natural directive was to find the answer to the queries given to him, and he had been asked- _what happened to CLU and the Users? _He would prevail.

Not really believing what he was doing, Kaps slung the damaged security program over his should and began the long walk back towards the city.

1011000111011001

Sam Flynn didn't even want to think about the Grid. It had been all of his childhood dreams, twisted into a nightmare. To think, after all those years, his dad had been trapped there, waiting… It was a painful truth. _I could have saved you. If only I had done things a little differently, not gone to Zuse… gotten to the Grid sooner…_he roused himself after realizing he could spend eternity thinking along those lines and never change anything and possibly drive himself insane. He had a company to run now, and Quorra to look after. _Dad's legacy is them. I won't lose them too. _

Quorra. Sam smiled at the thought of her. More like a sister than anything else, Quorra's endless wonder for the User world had never abated since her first motorcycle ride, and Sam had to doubt if it ever would. He'd pulled a few strings and gotten her a job as a programmer at ENCOM, and she was already thriving, her energy and enthusiasm quickly winning her over to most of the ENCOM staff, though Sam suspected Ed Dillinger Jr. saw her as competition and no more, but that was how he looked at everyone.

Life was continuing as usual, and that, Sam supposed, was the problem. Wasn't Quorra supposed to change the world? Being a programmer at ENCOM with an odd tattoo wasn't particularly groundbreaking. Maybe scientists could unravel the mystery surrounding the ISO, but neither Quorra nor Sam had any interest in her becoming some lab rat never to see the light of day again. How was Quorra supposed to change the world, anyway? What had his father meant? What grand plans had he hidden away in the Grid?

Sighing, Sam got out of bed and began to make the groggy transition back into the fully-conscious world. A day that began with deep introspection into the nature of the last ISO and his father's legacy did not begin well, but had to start nonetheless, and he had a job to be on time for now. Marv's incessant yapping reminded him that he wasn't the only one who needed breakfast around here, and he let thoughts of the decaying digital frontier saved onto his spare hard drive slip away. _For now._

AN: I'm going to try to leave authors notes on every chapter, we'll have to see how that goes XD. Please tell me if Sam seems a little out of character, or anyone else for that matter!


	3. Seaching

Alan knew Sam was hiding something. Something big. You didn't raise a kid without knowing when they had a secret to protect. For starters there was this odd friend of his, Quorra Liondefen, who had turned up out of nowhere and was an unusually talented young programmer that seemed uncannily at home with any computer system thrown her way. And from the second Sam had left the old arcade, he'd been different. More adult. Responsible, mature, and- at peace. As if he'd spoken to Flynn and had come to understanding with his long-gone dad. _With all the mystery around here lately, I wouldn't be so surprised. _

Straightening his jacket, Alan walked into the old arcade, memories and anticipation heavy in the dusty air. Sam was having the place restored as a retro arcade- something about his dad would've wanted it that way, and it was currently being cleaned, but the workers had all gone home for the night. As if walking in a dream, Alan's feet guided him to the back, where he knew a familiar name waited on an ancient arcade game. _Tron. _Why had Kevin given him that nickname, anyway? He'd changed somehow after getting his game titles back that fateful night at ENCOM- behaving uncannily similar to how Sam was now, with some grand secret that would change the world. Tron, the arcade, ENCOM- how where they all tied together?

Alan had some vague recollections of Kevin seeming to just appear into the arcade as if slipping through the wall, and would occasionally disappear in similar fashion. Struck by sudden inspiration, he kneeled, running fingers along telltale grooves in the floor. _You sly dog…_

With some effort, Alan tugged the heavy game back, revealing the classic hidden tunnel. The surreal feeling not leaving, he gingerly stepped down into the darkness, feeling along the dusty railing and sorely wishing he'd brought a flashlight, yet he was unwilling to turn back. Doubtlessly Sam had found this same tunnel two weeks ago.

Finally Alan came to a set of large doors that opened to reveal a office that could've only been the secret lair of Kevin Flynn. _What where you doing here? What are you and Sam hiding in here? _A distinct shape caught his eyes. The unmistakable digitizing laser Lora had worked with thirty years ago. The laser program had been cancelled almost directly after Flynn took ENCOM, due to some safety issue. Lora had been extremely suspicious that Flynn had some other reason for wanting to stop the laser from being worked with, though Alan had been quick to dismiss her claims. An imaginary Flynn narrated in his head._ I kept dreaming of a world I thought I'd never see. Then one day…_

"You got in! Tron, Clu, the Grid- they're all real! You weren't just making that stuff up for Sam!" Alan barely resisted the urge to fist pump and jump in the air. Flynn never abandoned Sam, or ENCOM, or his friends- he must've been trapped in the ancient computer down here! Part of Alan's brain was sure he was jumping to very extreme conclusions here- but somehow- this made a lot more _sense _than it should have. Then a terrible realization struck him- if Sam had come back from the Grid, why then, hadn't Flynn? After checking over the computer system, which, indeed had been transferred, Alan knew he and Sam needed to have a little chat. Casting a wistful look at the laser and the secrets it held, he headed for the stairs.

11011100011101

When Alan showed up at Sam's door, he knew there was trouble. Alan had that 'you have five seconds to explain yourself' face again. For several of Sam's child and teen years, it had been Alan's near-constant expression. Forcing an easy smile onto his face, he beckoned his stern-looking godfather inside.

"Hey Alan, what's up?" _Pretend like you have no idea anything's wrong. He always has trouble pouncing on an unsuspecting victim. Unlike Rinzler. _The thought came without beckoning and surprised Sam, who spent as little thought on the silent (well, not quite silent) enforcer as possible. He had failed to connect Rinzler and Alan over and over since learning of the security program's former identity. Rousing himself quickly from this train of thought, he sat down with Alan, still pretending to be completely at ease.

"Sam, I just came here from visiting the arcade." _No way. He couldn't have found out. It was only a fluke that I did… _The laid-back pretense vanished from his face, Sam tensed. The shit had hit the fan and Alan was not amused by all the lies and secrets at all.

"You have five seconds to explain yourself." In any other situation, Sam would have found the use of that well-worn quote humorous at this point, but now he was in big trouble and there was no escape in sight. _Time to be adult about this. _

"That laser really worked, Alan. Dad had been creating and living in a digital world for years. He wanted it be perfect before telling anyone. His great gift to the world. He thought nothing could ever go wrong… but things did go wrong. So many things went wrong, Alan." Sam finally was letting out the pressure of his father's greatest secret and his inherited burden, the perplexing miracle and unknown potential of the ISOs, the lives of computer programs, the corrupted, beautiful Grid and Alan's own part in the story.

110101100011

Quorra had taken Sam's bike to get some groceries. She loved getting out and seeing the city, even if it was just a grocery run. Sam certainly never hesitated to humor her eagerness to do chores. Smiling to herself, she thought of all the miracles just along the streets- plants, animals, children, cars that didn't derezz and needed to be parked- how could the Users be so jaded to their amazing world. The ISO was snapped from her thoughts, however as she froze opening the door and saw Sam spilling everything about her world to Alan.

This was something she and Sam had talked about several times- the issue of the Grid. Sam had backed it up and kept it running now on his spare laptop to prevent it from being lost entirely, but that was about the extent of their plans for it at the moment. The Grid could be dangerous, and a power vacuum had probably ensued after the demise of Flynn and CLU. They had, however, agreed to keep it secret until Sam had ENCOM and his own life sorted out enough to deal with the damaged digital world. So why tell Alan now?

"Sam?" It wasn't really a question in itself, but she succeeded in bringing both men to a screeching halt. Alan's eyes went straight to the distinctive ISO mark on her arm, and her hand instinctively flew up to cover it, but the older man had already stopped himself from staring.

"Quorra, Sam and I have had a little… talk. I found Kevin's old lab, and Sam here has explained to me where you really came from." There was still some (albeit merited) incredulity in his voice. For a minute all Quorra saw was Tron when one of the ISO children had done something dangerous. That same benevolent confidence, firm voice, and the 'I'm not letting you off the hook until you explain yourself to me' voice. Sometimes she still missed the system monitor- all the ISOs had trusted him, and even when Flynn vanished off to his 'real world', they had recharged easily knowing Tron had their backs. When CLU had killed him, the ISOs had known it was all over. Part of her still refused to believe that Tron could have ever been rectified into the monster called Rinzler. Swallowing, Quorra nodded to Alan.

110010100110011

"It's true. All of it. I'm not human. We…I…was going to be Flynn's gift to the world. His miracle." Quorra- _could she really be what she claimed to be? - _confirmed softly. Sadness stole across Alan's features. Kevin had hid this for so long… he could have been saved so easily if he hadn't been so damn arrogant… It was almost too much for his best friend to take in. Quorra stood supportively besides Sam now, still tightly clutching the groceries.

"We were going to tell you, Alan. We just wanted to… adjust to life_ here_ before going back_ there". _Quorra looked truly apologetic and earnest, and Sam chipped in with his best puppy face. Alan believed that coming more from her than he would have coming from Sam. The girl was just so… innocent sometimes that some naïve part of Alan saw lying as below her. But Alan had seen the look in Sam's eyes when he had been talking about the Grid, heard what lied unsaid in his voice.

"You don't want to go back to the Grid, do you?"Even as he realized this, he was saying it. The way Sam wouldn't meet his eyes told him all he needed to know. Placing a hand on his charge's shoulder, Alan reassured him.

"It's _alright,_ Sam. The Grid took your father away from you every night for years and then finally for good. You don't need to feel shame for natural feelings." Sam seemed to be sagging down under his hand as Alan's uncanny ability to coax his feelings into the open struck again. Quorra, meanwhile, seemed slightly stricken. _Of course it never occurred to her that he would dislike her home so much. _

"Quorra, Sam, I believe we have some unfinished business on the Grid to take care of."

AN: First of all, thanks to ScribeofRED and Xire for critique, reviews, advice and support. It means a lot to me!Please tell me if anyone seems out of character, and don't afraid to be mercilessly critical- I'm a fanfiction n00b, but I can handle it.


	4. Rebooting

In a quiet sector of the Grid, relatively isolated from the surrounding chaos of rebels and the remains of the Black Guard by its low population and lack of rebel cells, a program dragged a companion with one arm over his shoulder. He swept his hooded head warily from side to side as he looked for trouble, but the street was fairly deserted. A few other programs, wary as he was, hurried along, heads low, but no Black Guards stopped him for identification. Slipping into a silent building whose very faint lights made it seem more like a shadow than a structure, Kaps vanished into the darkness.

Sighing in relief at both the idea of some energy and at having returned unmolested from his first successful search in cycles, he collapsed onto an old couch with damaged code fraying around the edges. He eyed the other program irritably. Rinzler had felt a lot heavier than he looked starting about a quarter of the way back from the Sea, and Kaps wished for the billionth time that megacycle that he still had his beloved light runner.

CLU had confiscated all of the off-Grid vehicles quickly after rising to power, reason ninety-five that Kaps did not like his supposed liberator. Far too many programs had been quick to believe CLU really was some sort of savior- Flynn may have been in blind love with those isomorphic creatures, but he wasn't cruel, and no programs had ever derezzed in the Games, now a death row block for 'unnecessary' functions that were easier to get rid of than to Rectify. Kap's usefulness and avoidance of any affiliation with User loyalists, ISO sympathizers or other troublesome programs was probably the only reason that he had spared been from Rectification this long.

His moment of relaxation over, the search engine called to his employer, who had chosen so far to remain somewhere within the decrepit building.

"I found something today! Bring in a few vials of concentrated energy!"

"Please! I'm not giving you _anything, _you scrounging Trojan worm, until I see for myself what you found." An irked female voice snapped though the poor lighting in reply. Kaps noted with some concern that Rinzler really was deteriorating, and he was in no mood for the other program's attitude right now, with his only possible source of information slipping away before his eyes.

It's not for me, you idiot! We're going to lose _my only lead _if you don't GET IN HERE!" Running low on energy made Kaps a little touchy, and he had had enough of uncooperative programs today.. Finally the blond program made an appearance clutching three vials of brightly glowing energy. Her eyes fixed instantly on the still-robed Rinzler, who was lying face down on the floor were Kaps had dumped him. Dragging CLU's enforcer down the street would have caused nothing short of a major riot, so Kaps had traded the remains of his last payment of energy for a typical hooded robe at the first chance he'd gotten.

"Who…?" In one swift motion, Kaps tilted Rinzler's limp head up and yanked back the hood to let the irritating Siren's face reflect in the black digital glass.

With a startled yelp, she lurched away, dropping one of the precious vials, which Kaps caught in a heroic lunge across the floor, barely saving it from shattering in a shower of fragile code and energy that no program could afford to waste.

"Jesus Christ!" He swore, knowing full well how valuable this energy was and how close he had come to losing it. He had no idea what a Jesus Christ was, some nonsensical User swear he'd picked up a very long time ago. His employer, was still staring at the derezzing Rinzler with a frightening mixture of hate and fear that he had never seen in all his cycles working for her.

Charging her disk, she raised it above Rinzler, but he roughly shoved her back, and she went so far as to graze him with the energy blade, smoldering hate in her large eyes. Her white suit seemed to crackle with furious energy, visible in bright flashes beneath the concealing cloak she wore, like most smart programs these days. Kaps had no idea this mysterious Siren hated Rinzler so much.

"Do you want answers or not!" He cried, challenging her to destroy the information she sought. Still seething, she clipped her disk back to her back and shoved the vials into his hands.

"I won't finish the glitch this instant, but _you _can be responsible for saving him." Grumbling, Kaps realized that was the best he was going to get out of the livid feminine, whose demure elegance had evaporated, leaving a hard edged blade of cold fury and vengeful desires. _If things weren't so desperate, I'd ditch this low-res crap and go find some good work without some weird Siren acting like she owned me, _he thought even as he tried to figure out how to administer the desperately needed energy to Rinzler with the heinous helmet in the way. Even as he scrabbled for some catch to fold back the helmet, clueless as to what to do, a few more pixels of data fell from the enforcer's chest.

"Users!" He swore under his breath. Soon Rinzler's memory files would begin to disintegrate, and the program would be just another dead end.

With a sigh, his employer knelt beside Kaps and the monitor program, finding a tiny trigger at the base of his neck, causing just enough of his helmet to retract just enough to expose his mouth and a flash of pallid skin. Duly impressed, Kaps nudged the vial between his slack lips and poured the energy down his throat. _How on the Grid did she know that was there?_ It wasn't enough to bring him out of shutdown, but it stopped him from further deresolution.

"And now," said Kaps with a theatric flair, "we take the most dangerous program left on the Grid out of shutdown." Without hesitation he gave Rinzler the second vial of energy, and crouched back, ready to spring and pin the enforcer. The Siren took several steps back, charging her disk, but Kaps motioned for her to put it away.

"He'll target you as a threat and you _really _don't want that." Irritated at Kaps' didactic tone, she clipped the weapon to her back with an audible click. Rinzler's few circuits flickered on, helmet unfolded back to its usual state, and Kaps tensed as the program sat up, obviously extremely disoriented and feeling the damage done during whatever it was that happened out there.

11001010001110

_Rebooting… startup sequence commencing… Oh, Users, what happened? _A cloaked program swam into his vision though a haze of diagnostics and error messages. Instinctively he went for his disks, and to his deep horror, his disk port was empty- _CLU has them- no no no not again, I can't let him- error. Rinzler program serves CLU. RINZLER-HK-307020 security pro- ERROR. TRON-JA-307020 security program- prime directive: fight for the Users- defend the system-ERROR. Corruption detected. _Panic shot through Tron as he staggered to his feet, pain racing through his circuits. He had no idea who this program was, but in his vulnerable state- disks missing- badly corrupted- _Tron CLU Rinzler Flynn Yori Fight for the Users error error error- _but he had always considered programs hostile until proven otherwise. _Even Ram- wait, who's Ram-_

Confused lines of codes tangled in his head, twisting his source code into pure pain. He was still moving, mostly running on the buzz of the concentrated energy, and he lunged for the program, who had an eighty-nine percent chance of possessing his disks, or so he managed to calculate, pinning the program. Instead of resisting, the unknown program went limp. In better functioning condition, Tron would have noticed the quick flash of the program's hand to his back, but he didn't notice the sleight until the program, who he had flattened face up on the ground, arms pinned, crouched and poised on the other's chest. The unknown conscript simply smiled smugly at him, as if disappointed in his preformance, and confusion shot through the security monitor. _Why?- _then his enemy's disk, held awkwardly between his unrestrained feet, crashed into Tron's back.

A garbled snarl rumbled low in his chest as he leapt from the program, clutching his back. That could have easily been a fatal blow, but the mysterious cloaked program had not charged the outer blade of his disk, so it had left a new cut, but done far less damage. CLU had similarly kept a blow from destroying him, saving him instead to create in him perfection- _ERROR Corruption detected- how on the Grid was he supposed to fight when he could barely process memories_? Turning his full attention back to his opponent, his hands again twitched, craving the intense energy vibrating from his distinct weapons. He'd already confirmed he lost his light katanas in the crash. There was a low growl rumbling from him, louder now than usual with his agitation. This was very bad. This was very, very bad.

Without calculating the inestimably unfavorable odds, he sprang at the program again, feinting to get him to lash out with his disk on impulse, and ducking low under the attack, sweeping the program's legs out from under him and pinning him within seconds. To his surprise, his blows met concealed Disk Wars armor concealed beneath that cloak. Snatching his disk and raising above him in the same ceremonial gesture that had always been the end of the Games matches- until… until… _Rinzler! Rinzler! De-rezz! The crowd bayed for deresolution, and Rinzler would sate their hunger, the disk slammed down in an explosion of deresolutionizing data- _The single curved blade of the blue-green disk wavered in his hand and in that second a white blur kicked it out of his hand and a second smashed into his head. Dazed, he was kicked off of his adversary. The second, white-clad program finished her job by binding his hands and feet and leaving him helpless on the ground.

Dangling his disks, still locked together, in front of his helmet, the Siren gave him a mocking smile.

"Looking for something?" She asked with a voice sweet as arsenic. Hatred burned in her beautiful eyes. Now he knew he was _really _malfunctioning… this couldn't be… she had been derezzed along with Zuse…

_Gem?_

_AN: Whew! Some action! That was one of my first ever hand to hand combat sequences, so advice is welcome on how to improve the choreography. And yes, Kaps' employer is not an OC, and Tron's not glitched (at least in this respect XD) _

_I tried to keep her identity concealed up until now to surprise Tron and the reader at the same time- it was a bit difficult, trying to write all that without using her name once…_

_Thanks to Xire, Cyberbutterfly, Lady Geuna, and ScribeofRED for reviewing and advice!_


	5. Restoration

Sam sighed, shifting impatiently besides Alan. Ever since he had surrendered the laptop containing the Grid to Alan, he had been working with the damaged system, trawling every program running for signs of CLU or Kevin, running on coffee and determination to find proof of Kevin's survival, or CLU's, or a certain other program... He debugged the simulation program that Quorra had explained to him was responsible for the creation of the ISOs. Sam had showed him an ancient map from the hidden laser bay mapping out the Grid as it had appeared from the inside in 1989, patterns mirrored in the programming.

Many of the auxiliary programs had no immediate function that Alan could discern, until he puzzled out with some help from Quorra that they were the programs that created the weather of the Grid. Many of these were damaged, either from corruptions placed by CLU, who had disdained the unpredictable, almost natural weather patterns Flynn had created and tried with limited success to delete them all, or the glitches that would have occurred from running for over twenty years straight with no maintenance. _A system designed for both the programs _and _their Users, _he mused, bringing a few similar functions back online.

* * *

><p>A handful of stray programs fought over a trickle of energy running like a ribbon of light from the twisted rock that made up the Outlands, each vying for control of possibly the last source of energy on the Grid. CLU had controlled nearly all energy resources; the pools under his control were locked down, had been since the IO tower explosion. It was a desperate and lethal scuffle for survival between programs not made to fight, many sporting worsening damage, disks, katanas and fists flying. Desperate shouts and cries rang out through the maze of stone as the chaotic violence dragged on.<p>

With a distorted final scream one program derezzed as a disk tore through his side. A larger, more powerful program might have withstood the damage, but he was just an accessory function not even fortified by Disk Wars armor. The young female owner of the disk looked nauseated. She hadn't meant to derezz him, but she was scared and starving-

Suddenly, a shiver ran through the programming of the Grid as something somewhere was restored- a sensation that every program knew- Users were working with the Grid from the outside. Hope bloomed like an impossible surge of power in her heart- all was not lost. With a surge, the energy stream rose up in a much greater rush of power, restored to its full function at long last. Amazed, thankful, exhausted, the programs froze, and the violence ceased as the glowing blue sustenance ran around their feet, swirling with the buzz of life.

Sinking to their knees, disks stowed and masks removed, they desperately began to drink the first pure energy in too long, cupping it to their mouths in sheer joy, thoughts of combat evaporated. There was enough here for all of them. They were not all doomed to anarchy and starvation after all. The Users had not left them.

* * *

><p>Sam and Quorra watched over his shoulders as he repaired the system, bit by bit, and continued to search for Kevin, CLU and…<p>

"Sam, Kevin asked if he could use a security monitor I wrote back in '82 for a project of his." Both Sam and Quorra tensed behind him, but neither immediately spoke up to answer the unspoken question. That alone confirmed Alan's strong suspicions of a connection. Both kids (at this point in his life, anyone under thirty was still a kid!) clammed up, so Alan pressed again.

"Don't even try to talk around this. If everything you say is true- and the information in the system I'm working on right now is proof enough- then my Tron program is on Kevin's Grid." Alan was getting a very bad feeling from the silence.

"Yeah," Sam finally started. "My dad brought Tron over to help him create the 'perfect system.' He seemed pretty ready to leave it at that, too. Alan, however, needed to know the full story. Giving Sam and Quorra the eye, he couldn't help but feel as though Sam didn't want him to know something. Then it clicked-

"CLU killed- derezzed- Tron, didn't he?" Sam and Quorra both flinched, and Alan realized with a pang that his program, hero of all Kevin's stories, had probably been destroyed- _No, _he thought, _not just deleted with the click of mouse. The program _I wrote _over twenty years ago died. These programs are somehow not just lines of binary code, even as we are more than GTCA code-_Alan realized that trying fend off CLU, protect Kevin and the system, had probably done Tron in. It was a lot to take in, to realize, and to think about.

On sudden inspiration, Alan used Tron's serial number as a search, and a hit popped up on the laptop. **Program RINZLER -HK-307020**_. What the-? _ But then Quorra threw Alan a curve.

"Not exactly derezzed…"

* * *

><p>Gem was in a really good mood, and that's what had Kaps so worried. They had all been feeling the minute shifts in code that meant the system was being interfaced from the User world. CLU had tried to explain away the sensation as corruption caused by the ISO infection, but it had never occurred after the IO tower shut off so long ago and CLU had started to rectify the system, so it had simply faded from memory. The presence of Users somewhere above put the whole Grid in a better spirit, but this malicious cheerfulness (thankfully directed at Rinzler) was making Kaps nervous. For nearly a full cycle they had held Rinzler, and neither program had made any headway.

Still bound and in a sitting position up against the wall, the enforcer's helmeted head was tucked against his chest, body rigid. He had stopped trying to contort out of the high-grade bindings holding his hands and feet together a while ago, and Kaps wasn't sure if he had given up or was saving his strength for some extremely athletic and very dangerous escape plot. Gem had one foot pressed against the T shaped pixels at the base of the program's neck- _there's one mystery solved, _he thought.

There had been countless rumors about whom or what Rinzler had originally been, and with a pang Kaps had used the telltale circuitry to confirm that Rinzler had once indeed been Tron. That the program who had once fought for a free system had twisted into the monster before him was just a sign of how anything could corrupt to him.

Putting down Rinzler's conjoined disks, which he had unsuccessfully been trying to find the password for, he looked over at Gem, who was still trying the old fashioned way to get some information out of Rinzler and grimaced, unable to avoid pitying the security program any longer. Gem was still pressing down hard on Rinzler's chest, causing shivers of energy to spark painfully through the damage crisscrossing his body, and she was whispering viciously to the enforcer, whose limp posture showed no sign of response. Her initial delight at being able to cause him pain evaporated in irritation at his lack of response, and she drew back to kick him hard in the side, determined to get a reaction. The search engine winced. Rinzler was obviously incapable of freely giving in to her, or had a will of titanium alloy, and this was unnecessary. _Why is she so glitched-crazy evil on this guy? _And then he reflected- _Why in the Rectifier should I care?_

Gems' foot slammed into the enforcer's injured side, sending a few pixels flying. This did get a reaction. Rinzler shuddered and fought with renewed vigor, circuits flashing bluish white and orange. The bizarre, omnipresent growling purr briefly kicked up a few notches into a strained electronic snarl. Was Tron still in there somewhere? The Siren certainly wasn't helping Kaps get through to the faceless program though, whoever he was. _And now, to solve another mystery._

"Gem…" he started, wary. Not only did he want to find something out, he also realized he wanted to buy Rinzler a reprieve, however small. Her head snapped around to him, eyes narrow. _**Users**__, she's scary. Be strong, program. Find the answers you're looking for! _ Bravely he pressed on. "How did you know about that trigger in the back of his helmet, anyway?" She regarded him for a moment, obviously trying to decide whether or not to answer him. Finally she spoke with a voice like ice.

"The primary function of Sirens is to design and outfit programs with Games armor." _I thought they just gave programs a cheap thrill before sending them to their deaths! _ Trying not to show his surprise at the actual function of Sirens, Kaps nodded, silent, hoping she'd elaborate.

"We didn't design Rinzler's armor, we just made… modifications. He can't remove his helmet voluntarily anymore; CLU damaged the code that provides the voluntary relay to make sure of that. He wanted Rinzler to depend on him; to be able to access energy or even take a breath of fresh air without his approval would be impossible. We simply altered the coding of his armor enough to build the manual release trigger in the back." Kaps shuddered. He had a standard Disk Wars visor that covered his eyes and face in combat, but to be locked in that black shell, only released at the mercy of CLU's whim? The program had killed too many innocents for Kaps to feel any real sympathy for him though, now that he was no longer being beat by an angry Siren. He had just enough experience in that area to know how hard they could kick… Then a realization struck the search engine.

"Wait, so you're saying that you had the password to his disks, if you altered the coding?" Gem shook her head, irked.

"Of course he changed the code as soon as we were done, you idiot!" Kaps' brief hope melted back into frustration. Their only lead was damaged, glitching and seemingly mute. Instantly he tried to channel his irritation into something useful._ Maybe I should try to weasel something on the freaky purring-no-talking-thing out of Gem once she calms down… Oh, derezz this! I should just check out now! Go find some other program to find stuff for. Nah. Might as well see this through. _Truth be told, curiosity had set in and Kaps was going to get some answers one way or the other.

* * *

><p>Pain. It was all that was holding him together. He would have screamed at some point, but he had lost that ability long ago. The programs were talking, thankfully ignoring like the broken pile of code that he was. <em>CLU damaged the coding… we made modifications… wanted Rinzler to depend on him… <em>She's lying. _CLU was my creator, only master, my reason for existence- ERROR. I remember- CLU forcing my code into his own design… I remember… _His memory files were scattered like a derezzed program but he pulled fragments together, trying to untangle more… _I remember screaming. And then I couldn't scream anymore._

He tried not to think, that only created more pain. His sync to his disks was much finer and stronger than other programs, even if separated from them, CLU had made sure that he could not break fr- ERROR. _I am an extension of CLU, his weapon, perfection- _ERROR. He could feel them now, the greenlit program trying to access them- _No! Users, no! Please, never again! Alan-1, help me! _Something about that struck true- Alan-1, _Come on, reach back- __**Alan-1 is my User. He wrote me to defend the system and fight for the Users- **_ERROR ERROR ERROR.

Tron's lights flashed pure blue light for a long, wavering nanocycle, and for a second he clung to his shattered identity. The corruption was too strong; he fell back to chaos, slumped and bound against the wall.

_No!_

* * *

><p><em>AN: Gem might seem a little OOC, but she has reasons for being this angry at RinzlerTron, it will make sense, I promise. I feel bad for being so mean to Tron, but there was no getting around it…_

_Thanks to Lady Geuna, Cyberbutterfly,__ STRiPESandShades,__, and Xire for reviews!_

_I tried to encode actual binary into the borders, but the site keeps deleting it..._


	6. Found

_It's been one hell of a weekend so far… _Alan sat at home, poring over a laptop, fingers a blur across the keyboard. He hadn't moved in several hours; he'd come home from Sam's place with the Grid, had a quick lunch, and continued working with the system, which was more difficult than it should have been. The operating system hadn't seen an update since 1989, and though it had been ten years ahead of what was on the market then, that _still _made it old.

However, Alan had been programming since before this OS was in beta testing, and he repaired and debugged with the same patient thoroughness h _I guess that means I really _am _old._

Interestingly, it had largely been designed to be interacted with from the inside, which served only to complicate the problems for the moment. He and Sam would meet at the arcade after the renovators left- Sam had actually taken measures since starting renovations to ensure the hidden doorway would remain obscured. Not content to wait until eight, Alan was doing what he did best in the meantime- programming. _Man, does this old stuff ever bring back memories! _

Sam had thankfully had an old laptop buried in a box of his father's things that he had never had the heart to get rid of. Though a dinosaur now, it ran well and Alan liked it better than the new, sleek and poorly beta-tested, glitchy models ENCOM seemed fond of at the moment; despite his efforts to bring back good programming and high quality systems.

Pushing memories aside, Alan focused on the source of his current efforts- this mysterious Rinzler that had been cut and pasted out of his own beloved security program. The coding was an insult to programmers everywhere, though still functional and efficient, it was more patches and overwrites than source code. When the code had become damaged, it had begun to almost fracture into directives and , and to his horror was hovering near an irreparable crash.

Sam had told him about the terrible fate Tron had suffered- and how somehow, he was still hanging in there somewhere all those years. Alan felt a surge of pride for his program- when it had really counted Tron had proved himself above all expectation. He would save him. They all owed the program that much.

Determined to fix what CLU had destroyed, he opened the file for editing, and- **PASSWORD REQUIRED. **Alan glared at the screen, offended.

"You have **got**to be kidding me." _Nobody _at ENCOM, or anywhere else for that matter, locked Alan out of his own programs or files. Even viruses seemed to know better. This CLU was a nervy program; Alan would give it (him!) that at least. Most of the repurposed programs would be password protected, he supposed, to stop people from simply deleting them from the other side. Alan hadn't tried to deal with any of them just yet. _Once the system is safe from crashing, free of bugs, and overall stable, _then _I can worry about all of these 'Black Guard' security monitors. My Lord, how can one program make _such a mess _of a system with no viral programming or functions? _And then a realization hit him.

_Sam did say he was designed to think and act like Kevin. _

_That _would_ explain it._

Having a hacker for a best friend had its benefits, and though Alan preferred to build the defenses of the computer world over poking holes in them, one could only be around Kevin Flynn for so long without learning a few tricks of the digital dark arts. And so, cracking his knuckles, the programmer set to work breaking into his own coding. _You may be good, _program, _but I'm better! _

0011101000110011

Kaps had courteously offered Gem his whole next cycle to guard Rinzler- he hadn't even tried to exact payment, though that would probably change sometime in the near-distant future. Initially she had been reluctant to leave- Kaps had no idea how long she would have continued to exact her vengeance on the security program without his intervention, but eventually she left to do whatever Sirens did in their free time. _Thank the Users for small mercies. _Rinzler had turned into the ideal captive- no whining, screaming, struggling, crying or trying to chew through things- all of which made Kaps weary. Who knew what was going on inside that helmeted head?

Sprawled across the couch, the search engine continued to wrestle with Rinzler's damned password, a twenty digit piece of work. _Frag you, CLU, and the recognizer you rode in on! _Probably a randomized number, too. Why was he cooped up in this old slowly derezzing building, anyway? There was _change _in the Grid, you could feel it in the code around you. He should be out exploring the extent of repairs and reformatting, scoping for new clients, not slowly offlining from the boredom of systematically entering every number-letter combination possible. The silence was broken by Rinzler alone, his rumbling mechanical purr grating on Kaps. He shot the program an exasperated look.

"You are one lucky glitch that I am such a merciful guy, know that?" Rinzler was worse for conversation than a Bit, but Kaps' friends had once told him he would probably crash from a buildup of verbal data if he didn't run his mouth as much as he did.

"Users know what that she-wolf would have done to you if I hadn't sacrificed my _whole cycle _bit-sitting you and your stupid twenty digit passcode!" Kaps had no clue what a wolf was, but he'd heard the term somewhere (search engines were known for their exotic vocabularies) and it seemed to fit his employer.

Silence from the security monitor. Rinzler's head was down; his only signs of life were the erratic and spare circuits flickering in bright flashes here and there and that annoying noise vibrating through the room... Speech done, he flopped on the couch, peeved at his own inadequacies as a virus. This whole hack-the-disks thing was going nowhere.

It wasn't like he'd ever have a chance of stumbling upon the password in the next megacycle anyway. In fact, the more he thought about it the more futile it seemed. The disk landed softly on the couch behind him as he stood up and began to march over to Rinzler. _When one tactic fails, try another. _Kneeling down in front of the program, he snapped his fingers in front of the helmet. If Rinzler was functioning at all, he wasn't showing it.

"Hello? Anybody home?" Nothing. _If he crashes and Gem comes back I am _so _derezzed… _Kaps tried again. _Maybe name recognition…_

"Rinzler?" Rinzler started and shuddered, drawing in on himself, shaking. His helmet shook violently back and forth, and his circuitry flashed more rapidly, orange to blue, chaotic. It seemed to Kaps that the program was pleading silently, telling him not to do something, whatever that something was. He drew back, unsure, and then his eyes fixed on the T-formed circuits. _OH. _

"…Tron?" _Who knows? Tronzler maybe? _The circuits were still flashing alarmingly, though whoever-he-was mostly stopped shaking, and the helmet tilted up at Kaps for the first time and he had the unerring feeling of invisible eyes regarding him. Broken purring filled the silence, harsh and agitated. The search engine bravely pushed on, sensing opportunity.

"Can you talk?" The program clenched his fists, fighting some internal chaos Kaps didn't really understand. He held his breath; this could be the first step towards finding out what had happened out over the Sea, if only he played his cards right…

"Hurts." The voice was badly damaged, and sounded pained. That detail was mostly lost on the jubilant search engine. _Progress at last! _ He had to resist doing a fist pump. Kaps had to give a moment of processing to his next course of action. If he screwed this up, he might not get another chance. Rinzler was damaged, and Users or not, unless something drastic happened, he wouldn't be able to function in his state for more than a megacycle. _Especially with Gem around…_

Finally going with the straightforward approach, he entreated the security program again.

"Where are CLU and Flynn?" He spoke clearly and firmly, trying to get through the debilitating confusion plaguing the black-clad program. Rinzler tensed, hunching in on himself. The nano Kaps had said 'CLU', the program's violent trembling had resumed. He shook his head, denying something to himself. Kaps leaned in, eager for long-awaited truths. _So close._

"CLU is my master- enemy- traitor-killer-leader-fight for the Users-Flynn-betrayed-corrupted…" _Somebody's got a few fried circuits… _Words were not kind to the program. Speech seemed to tear at his throat. Kaps couldn't fully repress a stab of pity. He hoped that Rinzler would snap out of it all ready, and he strained to hear any sense in the programs' ramblings. He was built to find specifics in a vast ocean of obscure data. _You can do this, Program! _If only he could just keep Rinzler talking-

"Come on, Tron. Think back. You were chasing the Users in their three-man jet. Trace back through your memory files." He urged the damaged program, coaxing and urgent. Pulling his knees to his chest, Rinzler seemed to be trying to shrink away from Kaps, before finally growing still. When he spoke, it obviously drained him.

"Corruption-so much- CLU fixed-destroyed-perfected me. Had to take the shot-had to protect the Users= Finish the- corrupted! Fight for the Users-_no! _I failed-corrupted- CLU tried to fix me-FAILED." _Thanks for clarifying on the fact that you were indeed corrupted. That's helpful. _ Lights flickering, Rinzler slumped back, unable to continue. Unsatisfied, Kaps hissed through his teeth in frustration, and leapt up and shot down the hall of the derelict building- only a handful of rooms, it had originally been meant as a hub for programs recently rezzed on the Grid until permanent quarters was found.

Marching down a flight of stairs (elevator hadn't worked since the coup) he snatched a few vials of concentrated energy for Rinzler. Gem would be furious, but if he could placate her with hard facts… Some risks had to be taken. Returning to the captive, he offered the energy to Rinzler, who accepted a vial awkwardly with his bound hands. Kaps wasn't stupid; he'd seen what the program was capable of, even in his current condition. Rinzler would just have to figure it out with the restraints.

After seeming to simply stare at the fuel as if he'd never seen it before, he looked up at Kaps, perpetually unreadable behind his helmet. Cocking an eyebrow, Kaps gestured for Rinzler to drink. The purr kicked up into a frustrated growl, and he shook his head. _Oh, you have _got _to be kidding me… I know CLU had a mean streak the size of the Sea, but _come on. He wouldn't go so far as to…

"Total reliance. Extension of CLU. Exist to serve. Without CLU, there is…nothing." The distorted words barely conveyed more emotion than the black glass where a face should be, but Kaps sensed despair and deep anger, somewhere burning in the shattered source code. It was also obvious that Rinzler's damaged programming was expending incredible amounts of energy just to avoid deresolution. There was no need to further humiliate Rinzler, and without further hesitation Kaps' hand shot out and he found the trigger at the base of Rinzler's neck. He jerked and let out a hiss of surprise and apprehension, helmet folding back to reveal a mouth drawn into a tight grimace of surprise.

Fumbling with the vial, Rinzler hastily threw back the energy, then the second when Kaps handed it to him, circuits flaring with renewed vigor for the moment at least. _Stay with me, buddy. Just a few more cycles… _Systems struggling to process the amount of raw energy flooding his circuitry, the other program looked at Kaps, about to try to speak again-

And suddenly went rigid, uttering a low electronic whine of shock and terror, back arching as he fought with all his waning strength at the restraints on his hands and wrists. Taken aback, Kaps hesitated for a nanosecond before he leapt to try and calm Rinzler down. Taking the damaged program by the shoulders, Kaps tried to get him to stop thrashing, succeeding only in getting kicked.

"Whoa, whoa, calm down! You're still here; I'm not going to hurt you- hey, easy!" Rinzler was talking again, fast and low, near hysterics.

"Someone's hacking- my disks- overriding- where are they- _make it stop-_ not again, please not again! Can't- again-_Alan-1- please help me!_" For a second he seemed aware of Kaps again, freezing. His helmet tilted up as he looked at Kaps.

"_Where are my disks!" _Kaps staggered away from Rinzler and over to the couch, half-expecting to see some virus poised over the orange-lit disk. Picking it up, he activated the display and saw a notification- USER CONNECTION ESTABLISHED. WRITING. DO NOT SYNC UNTIL UPDATE IS COMPLETE. Sagging in relief, he brought the disk over to Rinzler, who was now shuddering, apparently too-familiar with the sensation of being hacked and rewritten. Holding the display up in front of Rinzler's face, he tried to calm the program down.

"You're okay. No program's hacking you. It's a _User, _Tron! Somebody out there cares about you- about all of us! You're gonna be okay, man. Ha, we're all gonna be okay!" Kaps couldn't help but feel dangerous, intoxicatingly optimistic. The shifts in the Grid, someone fixing _Rinzler, _of all programs… Rinzler had stopped responding, sagging against the wall. Talking, fighting, being rewritten again had all had its toll and now he had finally fallen into recharge, which was understandable.

UPDATES INSTALLED. DISK READY FOR SYCHRONISATION. Kaps was about to connect Rinzler's disk to his back when he realized Rinzler's mysterious User friend had removed the passcode. An outright cheer of joy- things were finally going his way again!- escaped Kaps, and he went to access Rinzler's memory files. _Damn time…_

_AN:_

_WHOA THAT WAS LONG AND TOOK FOREVER TO WRITE. Ugh, it just kept growing… sorry about the lack of development, but it was necessary to make this work. _

_Hopefully I can get back to faster updates now that this crazy week is over… Thanks to Cyberbutterfly, Xire and STRiPESandShades for awesome reviewing!_


	7. Confrontation

_Notice: The more I read this over, the less I liked it and the more I found things to fix, so I've patched a few things up and tried to make a few things clearer. _

Alan walked into the darkened arcade, laptop safely secured in a computer tote. He couldn't believe what was happening, where he was about to go- _and who I'm going to meet. _Sam and Quorra were already ready to depart, or so said the note taped to the TRON arcade game. For decades Alan had wondered why Kevin had named the game after a security program, even if it _did _help him foil old Dillinger Senior. _Just my way of saying thanks, _Kevin had told him. _To who? _Alan had asked him, sarcastic. _Me or the program? _Kevin had always just given him a knowing smile before replying that 'ALAN' just didn't have the same ring for a game title.

_I wonder if Tron ever knew that he was the video game hero of thousands of little kids, Sam most of all…_

In the basement of the arcade, Sam and Quorra looked up as he arrived from the ancient touchscreen monitor, one of the first of a proud line of ENCOM's counterattacks at Apple. Excitement shone in the ISO's eyes, probably at the prospect of showing her home to Alan. Even before he knew of her true origin, he had taken the young, talented programmer under his wing at ENCOM, trusting Sam in that she was a solid citizen despite her lack of social security number, or any other official paperwork. Even as CEO, Sam had to pull quite a few strings to get her into ENCOM. She had quickly begun to look to Alan for advice and support around the office. _She's a good kid. _

Sam, on the other hand, did not look nearly as cheerful, face serious and somber. The place obviously held nothing but memories of fear and loss for the young man, and Alan could tell he was really only going back because deep down, he knew this was something he couldn't run from. Addressing them both, he spoke.

"I'm not as foolish as you Flynns. I'm not going charging off into the digital unknown without someone on the outside to make sure nothing spirals into disaster." That was what bothered Alan the most about the whole story- Kevin had been so hell-bent on perfecting his little world before unveiling it that he had put himself at serious risk. _And paid the price. Flynn, you could be really stupid for a genius. _

"Which leads us to the issue at hand. Someone in this room- who is also not me- needs to stay here and make sure nothing goes wrong. I've been working with the Grid, debugging and stabilizing it, but the danger of being trapped is still present. Until I can devise a failsafe to get out from the inside, this is how it has to work." Sam and Quorra looked at each other, uncertain. Quorra finally lowered her eyes, obviously saddened.

100010101100

"Go, Sam. You… need this. I can monitor the Grid from the outside." Sam's heart sunk at the dejection in her voice and stance.

"Hey," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. He was unused to having to comfort girls, but he would give it his best shot. "Don't worry. Soon as me and Alan come back, you can spend as long as you want in there." She nodded, some good spirit returning, and she gave him an awkward smile that he was pretty sure was supposed to be reassuring. Alan, meanwhile, was still talking about the modifications he had made to the Grid- already he had saved Tron from total systems failure, as well as several other programs on the Grid. Sam couldn't suppress as shudder at the mention of the deadly shadow of a program. There had been no Tron in Rinzler, he was sure of it. Alan seemed to be convinced otherwise, however. His godfather set up the laptop and the laser, and joined Sam at the console.

"I've found a bunch of notes on the laser, and unlike last time I can now control where we appear," he proudly informed Alan.

"To be sure of where we come online, I've left it set to the coordinates Dad was using- the digital version of the arcade." To his surprise, Alan responded by beginning to sync new coordinates into the laser. Confused, Sam turned to the older programmer.

"What-?" He started to ask, but Alan was already explaining.

"I don't know how difficult it will be to hunt down Tron from the inside, so I'm taking us right to him instead." Sam tensed. _Oh God, we're actually _actively seeking_ an untimely death… _Sam had been the only User to witness directly Rinzler's final sacrifice, but he had trouble believing that Tron was back with the flip of some switch. He remembered the lithe black shadow cutting through his desperate parries, about to end his life when he was saved by a drop of blood. A broken clicking purr sounded still in his nightmares. Alan threw him a look, daring him to protest.

"I don't know what you think he's going to do you, but I can assure you that whatever it is, it's not going to happen. I've been repairing his code, removing as much corrupted code as I can." Shrugging, Sam initiated the laser startup sequence, doubts not fully abated.

"Whatever, Alan." Quorra stepped out of range as the laser hummed to life and then the world stretched and distorted into code and everything went black.

10101000110

SNAP. _What on the Grid was that? _Kaps jumped about three feet straight up like a spooked cat as something in the system surged. _Something really close… way too close. _Silently snatching his disk off his back, he crept down the hall, leaving Rinzler to reboot on his own, disk still syncing to his code. Voices echoed from a few rooms down.

"Where are we?"

"We're actually here!"

"More importantly, _where's Rinzler!_

_Okay, two mysterious functions just rezzed out of nowhere in here looking for Rinzler. Remain calm. _The two programs came clomping down the hall towards him, and he froze before slipping into a nearby doorway, concealing himself as they strode down the hallway past him, totally unaware. _What, are you two fresh out of beta-testing?_ No program in his or her right processes just wandered into a building without scanning first for possible hostile ambushes. Even if they _could _just randomly materialize out of nowhere…

"Hey, Sam, I think I found him!" Kaps swore under his breath, padding after the intruders. _I don't care who you are or where you came from, that is _my find _in there. _Then he realized- _I've already learned everything I can from his memory files. I've saved them onto my disk and can transfer everything to Gem- Rinzler is no longer any of my concern. _Not being preoccupied about the immediate survival of a program he had learned to fear and hate was liberating. The feeling was fleeting as always, however; walking away from something like this wasn't in his nature. Nor could he deny that leaving a completely helpless program, regardless of who they were, did not sit well with Kaps at all.

Still was a search engine, designed to find information, he _really _needed to know a little more about these mysterious programs- who were they and what was their function? How did they know Rinzler was here? What did they want with the damaged program? And how on the Grid did they appear out of nowhere, right were their target was? _Users must've sent them. Maybe they're search engines. _These two seemed… different, though. Search engines would be more cautious. Lurking just out of sight by the doorway, Kaps tried to get a better feel for their intentions, and what sort of danger he might be up against.

The older program seemed very concerned.

"Why isn't he responding? It's like he's out cold or catatonic. This shouldn't be happening after I repaired his source code… Sam, please tell this is some form of normal!" His companion_- Sam? Wasn't that the son of Flynn's designation? _seemed nervous, but less upset.

"This happened to Quorra too, when she was syncing after my dad repaired her code. He should reboot and wake up pretty soon." _Dad? _It was a term that Kaps was very vaguely familiar with, one that referred to the male contributor to a new isomorphic algorithm root code, or- something similar to do with Users completely beyond his understanding. _This guy _really is _Sam Flynn. Oh, this is very good or really bad… I should leave now. _

He heard a couple of quick metallic snaps as Rinzler's restraints were destroyed. _Who is glitched or basic enough to _release Rinzler, _conscious or not?_

_If Gem comes back and finds Rinzler and myself both gone, I might end up on the receiving side of her Siren wrath sooner or later. _He resisted the urge to groan aloud in pure exasperation. Some days there was just no winning. Since skipping out now was obviously not a viable option, he marched into the room, trying to use his obscuring cloak to hide his less-than-muscular frame and all around unimposing appearance. Before either User or unknown other could turn around, he clung to the element of surprise, barking out at both of them-

"State designation and intention, programs!" He had a very basic voice, tinny and synthesized like most standard Basics, but he could temporarily modulate it to enhance the bass frequency and his unnaturally deep voice vibrated in his throat. He was reaching for his back by 'designation' and had his disk charged and was in his most imposing stance, coiled back and ready to spring by 'and'. He saved the memory file of the User and his friend jumping away from the unconscious Rinzler like he had the Abraxas virus in a folder titled 'view when in need of cheering up'.

"Whoa! Calm down, man!" Yelped the User, quickly snatching his own disk, stepping in front of his wide-eyed friend, hands and disk in the air, placating. Kaps narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. _If I act like he's not a User, like I don't know, maybe I can use that to my advantage later._ Face impassive, he repeated with less aggression-

"State designation and intention, programs." Slowly lowering his disk, Flynn calmly answered, still wary.

"We're Users. My name is Sam Flynn, and this is Alan Bradley. We're not going to hurt you." _Two of them! This cycle is just getting better and better…_

Kaps' eyes slid to Rinzler, whose hands were twitching as he connected to the Grid and began to orient himself. _This is about to get really interesting. _Both Users were still totally trained on him, and didn't notice the program beginning to come back online. Kaps nodded at Rinzler, but neither took their eyes off of him.

"You do know what _that _is." What on the Grid where the Users planning with Rinzler, key player in the coup against one of their own, regardless of who he'd once been? The older User (_Alan, was it?) _bristled, and stood taller.

_"'That' _is _my program, _and I've been repairing the rather extensive damage done to him! What the hell did you do to him, anyway!"

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_System rebooting. Rewriting successful. Systems fully functional in five… _Wait, what? Rewriting? Then it came back to him. He remembered was the green-blue program talking, asking him questions- Something tampering with his disks, rewriting- **no. Not again.** _Four… _He couldn't be Rinzler again. _Three… _But he couldn't remember the last time he'd been able to think clearly like this. The deep-rooted pain of being corrupted had mostly abated. CLU had not tampered with his code, not this time. _Two… _Somewhere above him, voices swam into focus, yelling and arguing, and sorely he wished they'd shut up, every word making his head pound as he tried to recalibrate.

_ "'That' _is _my program, _and I've been repairing the rather extensive damage done to him! What the hell did you do to him, anyway!" An eerily familiar voice was shouting. _One… _Horror shot through him._ **Alan-1. It must be. He came back for me... why didn't he just leave me? I don't deserve his mercy.**_

****"What _I _did! Why don't you ask CLU that? I'm just a search engine! I saved his sorry, psychotic life!" He still couldn't repress a shudder at the name, but directives to serve and defend CLU did not immediately fill his consciousness. _Repaired. Saved. _

_Systems operating at ninety percent capacity. _Visuals were back online, but still calibrating, through the diagnostics and notifications appearing on the inside of his helmet he could begin to see the three programs standing above him. Running some quick final self-diagnostics, he began to inch towards the far door of the room, painfully aware of the search engine's suspicious eyes on him.

_I can't let Alan-1 see me like this- I don't deserve another chance. I almost derezzed the son of Flynn- I could turn on him, too._

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The cloaked program was still staring pointedly at Tron, and Alan followed his gaze to the program, who was now awake, and to his surprise, attempting to escape through the back door, moving low to the ground like a shadow.

"Wait!" Where did he think he was going, anyway? Sam, Tron, and the search engine's focus all snapped to him.

Tron's flinched at his voice and his circuits flashed orange for a heartbeat, before he shook his head, whether out of disorientation or denial Alan couldn't tell. Sprinting for the door, he was gone in a blur of black. Alan stepped forward, ready to pursue. He must have missed something when working with the corrupted code. He had had to leave some of it until he could get his hands on a backup of Tron to bring in the new code with. Why else would the program act this way? He would have given chase when Sam grabbed his arm.

"Alan, he's dangerous and crazy! He almost killed me, and there's nothing stopping him from killing you now!" Sam protested, voice low and urgent as Alan tried to shrug him off.

"Look, you may be a User, but respectfully sir you _really _should consider how many innocents he's derezzed before you try and help him! What about the rest of us?" Added the yet-unnamed search engine. Alan and Sam both turned to the program, surprised. They still couldn't see most of his face, but his mouth was turned into a harsh grimace of anger.

"I've been around long enough to see what he's capable of." He continued with venom in his voice. Alan felt a stab of guilt- if he had made Tron better, more resistant to corruption- all of this might never of happened. _I'm so sorry, Sam, Kevin. _Turning to the program, he spoke, more forcefully than he intended.

"I've been repairing the system. I would never abandon all for one, but Tronis my program. I'm responsible for him. Don't even try to talk me out of helping him." Both Sam and the program looked at him warily, resigned to his determination.

"Tron may be your program, but what about Rinzler?" Asked Sam, voice softer now. Alan drew back, surprised, about to reply when a feminine scream reverberated through the building. Sam jumped, hand flying to his disk- _Where did everyone around here get those things!- _and the program tore out of the room towards the source of the sound, cloak billowing behind him, swearing viciously in at least five languages. Alan and Sam rushed after him, confusion and a thrill of adrenaline racing through Alan.

From down the hall, shouts from two voices could be heard, muffled thuds of bodies impacting the walls, more swearing, and the unmistakable hum of identity disks flying and smashing into each other. Alan skidded to a halt, momentarily paralyzed by the chaos before him, while Sam immediately leapt into the fray, disk and armor glowing harsh white. The program they'd met was fighting alongside a female program in white armor- her dark, furious eyes stark against her pale form. They fought in awkward tandem, occasionally getting in each other's way, and Tron was easily holding his own against them, disks a vibrant blur, for they had yet to score a blow to the best that Alan could tell. Never a fighter in all his years, the programmer felt suddenly very out of his league.

_React, Alan! Do something before somebody gets hurt!_

With a yell, Sam charged Tron from behind, and the program leapt straight up and back flipped, landing gracefully with Sam and the two programs in front of him, and took them fearlessly head-on. Already both programs had shallow, pixilated cuts on their arms from his returning parries and slashes.

To Alan's horror, Tron lashed out as Sam tried to get a low cut in on his leg while the programs attacked head on, and one of his disks grazed Sam's arm, the energized blade leaving a long, shallow wound. The mechanical growl snarling from his program's chest stopped as blood rose up on Sam's arm, and he froze, horror evident in his stance.

"…No…didn't mean to…my fault…corrupted…" The security program was shaking all over. Something was still wrong with his voice, Alan realized distantly-

And with a triumphant shriek, the white-clad program leapt forward and brought her disk down on the back of Tron's helmet, sending him lurching away before collapsing, enough of his black helmet shattered to reveal a nasty gash of shattered data. Tron had dodged late, but had probably saved his own life nonetheless. Alan suddenly snapped back into real-time, grabbing the search engine by the shoulders as he charged the wounded program, disk raised for the kill, or at least, Alan thought he saw lethal intent in that moment.

"ENOUGH!" He shouted at all present, giving the program a shake for good measure. Everyone jumped to attention, disks glowing in their hands. Standing over Tron, who hadn't got back up and was twitching on the ground, he gave Sam and the two shell-shocked looking programs a withering glare despite the terrible guilt clawing at him. _I just failed in protecting my godson and my own creation._

Sam was shooting a nasty look at the female program, and she was fixing him with a cool stare in return. The search engine was trying to squirm away from Alan, who irritably shoved him back over to Sam and the other conscript. _Violent idiots, all four of them! _Before he could continue, however, Sam cut in.

"_He's _a homicidal security monitor and _she _betrayed me, my dad and Quorra!" Snarled his godson. The white armored traitor didn't look very chagrined, though it was obvious she feared the two Users, and she hissed out a response to the accusation, hate glittering in her eyes.

"The Users betrayed _us, _son of Flynn! Our _glorious Creator _ran from his own creation, leaving us to derezz! Almost _everyone I knew _is gone now! My friends, my family, all derezzed while our maker hid and let us die while he squatted in the Outlands _doing nothing!_" Despite her tragic claims, there was no sadness in the program's tone. Alan supposed it had evaporated long ago, to be replaced with scorching fury at the injustice of the world. Sam, obviously surprised by the depth of her anger, protested, voice strained with emotion. _She knew just how to hit a nerve… _

"Her name's Gem," the search engine pointed out, awkward in the incredible tension. Alan glanced over at him questioningly, but Sam had a few words for Gem.

"My dad did fight! CLU just grew more powerful! And you say that_ everyone _you knew is gone now, but CLU only rectified about a quarter of the programs on the Grid and only one tenth die-_derezzed_ in the Games! And he gave his life to stop CLU- _my dad_! But I guess you wouldn't understand how _that _feels, Program!" Alan tensed, ready to intervene if Gem tried to kill Sam on the spot. She certainly looked ready to. Eyes dark slits, she spoke, voice low and ominous.

"I understand more than you know, _human._ And did you really think we ISOs were pathetic enough to succumb to total genocide?_" _Alan stopped cold. We ISOs?_ But Sam said the purge deleted all of them except for Quorra… _

Sam and the other program looked equally shocked, especially the program, whose somehow still-drawn hood revealed only a comical slack-jawed look as he dropped his disk, at obvious risk of crashing. With a flick of her fingers over her sleeve, she derezzed enough that the telltale mark was revealed, stark against pale skin.

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_AN: Long like whoa! It just kept on getting bigger of its own accord. After being offline for a few days, I finally got internet access back again, to discover an incredible amount of awesome reviews for chapter five! Thank you all so much! Next chapter, get ready for some explanations on the subject of Gem, Zuse and the Sirens…_


	8. Introspection

Since Kaps was busy watching Rinzler, Gem had some free time. She'd confirmed that the Users were again working with the system- _too little, too late- _as a ragtag group of search engines and various other functions had come staggering out of the Outlands rejoicing- apparently the energy stream near one of the old ISO colonies had revitalized. The constant storm brewing above the Grid, a result of weather CLU could contain but never be rid of- had broken, and rain was pouring down upon the system as if to wash away the past. She'd once had elegant umbrellas with glowing lines that complimented her own, and now only an unflattering cloak kept the soaking torrent off of her. _I never understood the purpose of it, anyway, except as an excuse for the existence of umbrellas in the first place. _Sighing, she looked up at the ruined tower that had once been jewel of the Grid_._

_Zuse had been unique from the time of his initial creation- an innovative program designed to repair or alter other functions; the type of versatile coding Kevin Flynn had decided a long time ago would be highly useful_.

All around her, programs were rushing as if they had places to be, programs to see. _They're in denial of the fact that this system has no User. The fools. At least CLU knew that we could create our own meaning in existence._ She smirked bitterly. _Well, at least _I_ can. _The mood was unusually happy; those around the hooded Siren were talking happily about energy, Users and system repairs. And, of course, _Ding, dong, the Rinzler's dead! Was it true that he was _really Tron? _Of course not, Tron would never allow that to happen to him or anyone on the system! CLU derezzed him at the beginning of the coup! _Gem scoffed to herself as she listened to the babbling programs walking by her. _Anything that was good can be corrupted; anything that was corrupted can be rectified. _CLU's favorite mantra was deadly accurate.

_Though he never had admin access, as his abilities would become highly dangerous unchecked, he was a powerful program capable of repairing those damaged in the absence of Flynn, with the permission of Tron or CLU, of course. _

Standing here in the middle of the heart of the city, engines and voices ringing in her ears, she was reminded of a better time. As a newly rezzed ISO she was simply exploring, hair down and eyes wide, already turning heads with her exotic elegance. Even from the streets, she could feel the pulsing beat from the club above everything, shimmering and far away, like Olympus. What was it like up there? She imagined it to be gaudy and stylish, and she wanted badly to be there. There were no guards in those days; there was no need. Her own fear was the only thing keeping her out of the famous End of Line club.

_As creative and quirky as the programmer who wrote him, he was fascinated by the ISOs- their artistic abilities, unique, free personalities. In turn, many of them enjoyed the company of the Basic who treated them without fear or cold tolerance, who could tweak energy binding into wonderful flavors and… other enjoyable properties._

Jaex, Volien and Siria were her sisters; her family. Deviants of the same source code; they were almost extensions of eachother. She could not go without them, and they shared her same desire and reservation to board that elevator with programs surely far better than four nervous ISO girls who had no business in such an establishment. Would the barkeeper throw them out? Be afraid like so many Basics were? _They _should _fear us. _

_There were four sisters in particular who admired him, who he took on as unofficial apprentices in the art of entertainment and drink mixing, both hobbies derived from his function. For regular programs, learning like this was unheard of; it was only another example of how the ISOs would- and already where- changing the (digital) world. Flynn had never foreseen such a turn of events, ISOs and Basics relating like this, but that was the nature of the ISOs- unpredictable, inspired, at times totally random._

The torrential rain was beginning to wane in force; finally the simulated storm would abate. Umbrellas or no, Gem hated weather and had been sorely disappointed in CLU's inability to get rid of it. The sysadmin had tried his hardest, but really he amounted to little more than a powerful virus in the end. Viruses would never succeed- no matter how long it took they would be found, isolated and deleted. _Foolish, incompetent and cruel as they are, Users are still very powerful, _she reflected. _Zuse would have made great things if he had gained control of the city. Better than Users or their pitiful psychotic codified utilities. _It wasn't like her to stand out in the rain thinking about the past, but she felt the need for a very bad mood to already be in place when she returned to deal with Rinzler.

_He had fought the purge- fought long and hard, but realized in the end he couldn't save them all. By allying himself to CLU- though it sickened him, he gained limited admin powers from the treacherous Admin; Zuse staged his last, devious stand. He would save all that he could, his special four._

They'd once loved the rain- loved how it slicked over their skin, the feel and sound of it, a rushing sigh. Immature children, how they'd delighted in the fits it gave the system monitor, who hated the reduced visibility, among other issues. _Then again, he had an issue with everything that had a remote chance of becoming a security hazard._ An older program from another system, he was unstoppable on a lightcycle but he'd never had to deal with the new variables simulated water introduced to how his bike would take a sharp turn. Giggling hysterically as the bike spun out and would have hit a building if Tron had not derezzed it and flown into the solid code himself, uncharacteristically undignified for one who took himself so seriously, they fled as the ruffled program shot them a severe look, each saving the audio-visual file for later sharing.

_He altered their codes, giving them the armor, names and suits of Basics, ensuring CLU that as maintenance functions they could be of use to him as Games armor technicians and designers. Their innate ability to learn saved them and they quickly became indispensible. By smuggling them into the system, inside the monster, he made them invisible. Then all one Basic against the Grid had left to do was hope that a fallen god might return and set it all right._

It wasn't that she hated the weather directly, no matter how much she told herself that. She hated the laughter ringing in the rain, the memories of dancing programs and ISOs, the whole system free of the nightmares that now haunted it. She hated how it made her want to be herself again, to have back what was gone for good.

_But as the Purge came to a successful conclusion and CLU's reign stretched on, cycle after megacycle, the strongest wills withered, and a feeling of betrayal blossomed. The danger of hiding inside the monster is you become part of it. She wasn't sure when she had stopped being an innocent trying to survive named Xene and stopped pretending to be a tool of CLU's power, or if she should care. The Users would never return to save them and she and her sisters would have their vengeance on all that wronged them. _

_SNAP. _Gem, froze, returning fully to the present. That surge hadn't occurred in so long, many probably wouldn't know what to make of it. _As if I could ever forget. _All around her cries of surprise, exultation and fear rang out. Programs squinted and pointed; Gem looked, though she knew what she would see- the I/O tower was lit once more. _You're too late. The worst has happened. And I will not rest until you have paid for what happened here. _Drawing her hood, she stalked towards the abandoned hub folder containing Rinzler and Kaps- _unless he found my energy cache and ran, the little viral pest. I might derezz him if he wasn't so useful at times._ Kaps had palmed a little energy off her before, sneaky glitch.Another bitter survivor alone in a world with no place for her, no longer an eye-catching ISO child, merely an agent of retribution, she vanished into the crowd.

_AN: Shorty, I know. Just a little more on Gem, hopefully interesting nonetheless. Next up: More regularly scheduled Tron, Sam, Alan (with a chance of Kaps) and some much needed confrontations between Users, programs and one very angry ISO. _


	9. Introductions

Gem had rezzed her sleeve again over the mark, but every User and program present was still staring at the spot as if some message had appeared on her arm. The first to recover, Alan knew he had to act fast before chaos erupted again. Hands up, he tried to placate the tense figures before him.

"_Okay _then, unless anyone _else_ has something incredibly important, shocking or possibly cataclysmic to the restoration of the system to share, let's take this to somewhere where I can sit down to fix what I repaired no more than _ten minutes ago." _Sam seemed offended by the way Alan had yet again become the authority figure, and the two conscious programs seemed to be trying to comprehend what a minute was. Shaking his head, Alan lead by example. _Even herding cats at ENCOM is easier than this lot._ Slinging one of Tron's arms over his shoulder, he began to drag the program back the way he'd came. _One of these rooms has a couch… _

Reluctantly Sam, Gem, and the other program- _how do I still not know his name, anyway? _-trailed behind Alan. Tron had flinched when Alan had gingerly hauled him up, but otherwise showed no signs of life. After turning into the only room in the short hall with a couch and laying the damaged program out on it, he faced the three before him.

"We need to talk." Sam cringed visibly; he'd heard that line far too many times as a teenager. Gem merely narrowed her eyes and the hooded program made no reaction, but Alan got the feeling he was listening keenly.

"I know that Kevin Flynn created CLU and the resulting chaos nearly destroyed the entire system. Sam and I are here to repair the mess left behind. You've got no reason to fight us." Gem wasn't buying it.

"No reason? So far you've aided the survival of my worst enemy and supported the traitor and his son. I have reason to hate you, User. Don't forget that." Alan sighed internally; that one wasn't going to see reason or even think of allowing anything but hate and vengeance to drive her thoughts for a long time. _But, she doesn't seem too likely to immediately _kill us, _so I'll count that as progress. _

_ "_Why do you care about him in particular, though?" The search engine didn't care much for Tron, either, so Alan gathered. He was still shaken by how the program had leapt at his creation, seemingly ready to kill. He had trouble believing the program was nearly as hateful as Gem, though. He had been ready enough to defend the other program when he'd been syncing to his rewritten realized he probably owed the guy a bit of an explanation, anyway. Looking over at the motionless form on the couch, he became worried that if he didn't repair the program he might… die? In the real world a damaged program that wasn't running was stable and could wait to be repaired, but here, what rules did and didn't apply? Logic stated the exact same rules applied in the same way as the computer was unchanged, but still…

Before Alan could answer, Sam cut in, to Kaps' irritation, voice wary and demanding.

"Who the hell _are _you, anyway!" Kaps shrugged peevishly.

"I don't know, lemme calculate on that for a while… how 'bout one of the thousands of other programs in here besides Gem and Rinzler?" He might have been more polite with a User, of all the sorts to be rude to, but that had been uncalled for on the part of in a somewhat meeker tone, (he had just snapped at a _User!_) he clarified.

"Serial code KPSE-V2-1863212, designation Kaps, function search engine, primary directive: answer queries." _Fight for the Users, create the perfect system, now those are cool primary directives. I answer the queries! Not _nearly _as intimidating. _With some resignation he pushed back his hood at last, revealing his spiky brown bangs and the annoying bit that stood up on the back of his head. He didn't show his face around programs of unknown intent; anonymity was a powerful weapon and he utilized it heavily. If he wanted to trust these Users, and have them trust him, though, he would have to play a different game.

Flynn nodded, obviously somewhat relaxed in the knowledge that Kaps wasn't an immediate threat. Kaps, now reversely assured that Flynn was not an immediate threat, directed his focus back to Alan.

It was obvious the User was willing to talk, but he wasn't saying anything until he was sure Rinzler was not in danger of immediate deresolution. Megacycles of wheedling information out of sentries, Sirens, random functions on the street and even Rinzler himself had left Kaps fairly decent at the art of subtle interrogation. _Rule number one- play it their way. _Frankly he'd expected the User to be able to tell a damaged but stable program from a derezzing one without any help, but apparently the User world worked differently.

Without further ado, he strode from the Users and his (possibly ex-) employer to the poor security monitor. _Talk about a glitchy cycle for this guy. It hasn't gotten much better for him since he wound up in the Sea. _He took Rinzler's wrist in his hand, pressing his thumb down where a major circuit should be- and he felt the steady, if weak energy vibration of an online system. To his surprise, the program was still conscious enough to try feebly to jerk his hand away, growling faintly. His central functions had gone into involuntary shutdown to prevent further damage, but apparently the stubborn glitch was fighting the subroutines.

"He's fine," Kaps assured the Users, both of whom had tensed when he'd approached the security monitor. It wasn't what Gem wanted to hear, but he would deal with that once he knew why two Users dropped out of the sky to help a program who nearly killed one of them on several occasions. Alan seemed less than convinced, however. The look he shot at Kaps said, _do I look basic enough to seriously think that _that _is what 'fine' looks like?_

"Well, as fine as he can be with a gash in his head, but he's not going to derezz, if that's what you're worried about," he amended. Seeming somewhat relieved, the older User pushed the strange visorlike apparatus up again on his nose, opening his mouth to speak. _Not strong or large enough to be a visor or any kind of armor; must be some strange custom of Users. Weird. I wonder what its function is._

_ "_I wrote Tron in 1982, which is longer ago here than the system has existed." _Older than the whole Grid! _Kaps was impressed. And then he realized- _Rinzler should be flattered that his programmer cares about him this much. I don't get the impression that all of them are this kind. _Rinzler's creator wasn't done, though.

"Kevin loaned a copy of him from me to use for a 'project'- this system."Kaps was still having trouble believing the rational and slightly imposing figure before him had ever created a psychotic monster like Rinzler. _A hero like Tron was, now that I can see… _Kaps nodded, satisfied with that information for the moment. _The creator returns to save the creation and his dying world. How poetic… I thought this sort of thing only happened in the entertainment audio-visual files._ It fit with what he'd seen of the User so far, regardless. Flynn seemed to mostly be around because he was fast with a disk when needed and knew his way on the Grid. _I'd rather work for these guys than for Gem any cycle. _The unexpected realization struck with certainty and he couldn't say he was surprised.

As for Gem, she'd been watching the whole exchange from the background with a cool, detached air that Kaps knew veiled a calculating, heartless anger. And yet he still was thinking of severing his alliance to her, which could put himself directly in the path of that fury. _I don't want to work for her, but if she needs me I've got one less disk headed for the back of my head. And I hardly think she'll see me associating with them as anything less than treason… _While Kaps was muddling through those grim lines of code, the Users had gathered by Rinzler, who flinched and shuddered deeply when Sam gingerly removed his disk, but was too weakened to stop him. Alan seemed genuinely surprised by the reaction; he turned to Sam. But before he could question the younger User-

"Oh, calm down, they're just going to fix your head." _Why did I just say that? _Rinzler had reason enough to be paranoid about his disks being taken, and Kaps had somehow felt compelled to assure the program he wasn't being rectified again, remembering how he'd reacted to being rewritten from the outside. Both Users stared at Kaps for the moment, and he gave them a look that challenged them to question him.

"What did you do? Should that hurt him?" Despite Kaps assurances to Rinzler, Sam shook his head, unsure.

"I don't know… it shouldn't, I don't think… Dad took Quorra's from her to repair her arm and she didn't seem to get upset or feel anything." But it was obvious Sam was suddenly wondering if he really had caused Rinzler pain. _These guys are _seriously _not a full cycle out of beta-testing, are they? _Kaps folded his arms, still standing by the door, unimpressed. _I'll have to stick around to give them a few pointers, I suppose. _

* * *

><p>Alan was suddenly struck by how little he knew on the inside of a computer- he could do anything on the other side of the screen, but here he wasn't even really sure how to access a program for editing. He knew the orange conjoined disks in Sam's hands had something to do with it, but he had barely inklings as to what to do with them. And Tron's reaction to having it removed has been certainly unsettling. Looking supremely unimpressed, Kaps called over to him,<p>

"Of course it didn't hurt him- they're meant to come off, after all." The program was taking the attitude of, _you're a User, why don't you should know these things, _and Alan felt almost… embarrassed by his own ineptitude. Kaps had left the obvious question unanswered, however, and Sam swallowed his pride and prompted the search engine-

"Then why did he spazz when I took it off?" Demanded Sam. Kaps cocked his head at the word 'spazz,' but quickly recovered and went on to shrug helplessly.

"Probably has something to do with being unsuccessfully repurposed… whatever exactly was done to him, I doubt it was painless." There was pity in the program's voice, and that really made Alan start to wonder all over again. A search engine felt pity, a security program lay wounded before him, and he was in a temporary storage folder that looked an awful lot like some old motel in a extremely outdated computer system written by his vanished best friend in the eighties. The insanity of the situation was hitting home again, and he gamely tried to move past it to deal with the issues at hand.

"_Right. _Sam, do you have any ideas on how to do this?" Both Users stared at the disk, and then Sam found a small button on the underside that activated a holographic display. Obviously smug in his User powers, Sam handed Alan the disk, and he got the distinct feeling his godson was expecting to watch him fumble around clueless with the software. _Please. Different world, same computer language, I'll figure it out._ A three-dimensional holographic display appeared, and several different options were visible in the glowing image- Alan selected 'run diagnostic'. _Let's see how this goes… _ The disk interface system was fast and easy to work with, the diagnostic results flowing onto the hologram as they were compiled; finding the damaged code was easy and he began repair immediately.

Despite everything, Alan was soon enjoying himself. Finding every damaged line was much easier with the holograph, and he was soon finished repairing the injury and began working with the corrupted code again. He'd obviously missed something important the first time; it was just a matter of finding it. _This is a programmer's dream come true. No wonder Kevin loved this mysterious 'project' so much._

Settled deep into the original coding, CLU's handiwork was effective and efficient but lacked any innovation or real creative ability- a lot of clumsy copy and paste. However, there was something that gave him pause as well- there was a third hand in this coding. More sophisticated than CLU and slightly unique from his own writing as well, whoever or whatever had done this was well suited for the task. These routines typically overrode basic functions or blocked access to memory files, clever patches to bind Tron and Rinzler into a single entity. _That's interesting… _

011100110110000101101101

Alan was deeply immersed in the glowing code at his fingertips, a shadow of a smile on his face. Sam was impressed; it had taken the programmer seconds to figure out how to manipulate the programming using the disk, and here he'd been proud of himself for finding the switch to activate the display. Oh, well. Glancing over at Kaps, he was somewhat surprised by the look of total awe on the rather jaded program's face as he watched Alan work. _I guess this is sort of like watching God at work to them, isn't it? _Noticing Sam's eyes on him, the program looked away, suddenly a little sheepish, obviously slightly embarrassed of being caught gawking at Users.

010001110110010101101101

Rinzler had survived the cycle, and so had she, so the war wasn't over yet. The Users had made their allegiance clear- _how could they side with that _murderer? _How could the ones who created my whole world be so blind? _Her whole race, her kin, had died at those double disks and yet they called him by the name he'd no longer deserved, seemed intent on helping him. CLU was right- the whole system was corrupt, and the Users had let it happen. Looking over at Kaps, she saw the look of hopeful admiration in the foolish program's eyes. Gem turned away, disgusted and almost pitiful. _He can't help it. He's just a tool made to serve them. There's no hope for him. _

She slipped towards the back door, unnoticed. Kaps' eyes flashed to her, and she placed a finger over her lips, eyes warning him to remain silent or be silenced. Then Gem was gone, feet flashing light over the floor of the hall, she scooped up her cloak from where it had fallen by the door. Drawing her hood around her face, she vanished into the city. The gentle winds that caressed the Grid after a storm did nothing to cool the fire within. _Gem, go! He'd knelt, hands on the ground like a User, desperately cobbling a second elevator shaft and one man platform beneath her feet, limited admin abilities at full capacity. _She was totally alone, and it hurt and frayed inside. Those who had stood by her where gone; only her enemies remained to haunt her. _The ground dropped out from under her as the platform dropped, and he vanished from her sight. Screaming, she called his name, he couldn't leave her and her sisters, they couldn't do this without him, couldn't play the game- "Zuse!" Then there was the explosion- it shook her to her core and roared with the sound of devastation, unbridled desolation. _He fought for us.

And even the Users seemed not to care. Gem shivered, seething and grieving and plotting. _Sobbing and shaking, she had stumbled to the door of her shared quarters beneath the Arena- they couldn't stay here, had to run, was she too late- The silence told her all she needed to know. No, no, no… she flung open the door to only the solitary dark form of Rinzler. Horror shot through her. It was too late. Back to her, Rinzler used the edge of a light katana to carve the symbol of the ISOs into the code of the wall, before using one of his disks to slash through it- the same mark every ISO killing site could be recognized by. _Every detail of that night was sealed into her memory files. _Rinzler's hands were shaking when he turned and saw her standing frozen. There was a long cut down his arm- _they fought! They fought him and I've done nothing!_ And as he lunged at her, the electronic growl seemed louder, but her fear amplified everything around her._

_The assassin leapt into her, leaving her very much alive as she crashed onto her back, Rinzler already sprinting away, up the platform to the Arena and gone. She lay there long after, shocked beyond immediate recovery, breath ragged with emotion and terror. _**He let me live.** To this cycle, Gem didn't understand why. _Some failure in his coding, undoubtedly. _Shaking her head, trying to clear her tangled processes, she focused again on the present. She had an old friend to were preparations to be made. She had a plan.

_AN: Gem is on the loose, and we have not seen the last of her! _

_Thanks to Cyberbutterfly, Zuzanny, Silvara and Xire for reviewing chapter eight! I'm trying to get around to replying to everyone personally, but even if I don't rest assured that I do read all of your reviews and appreciate every one. _


	10. On Your Feet, Soldier

Glancing over at the two Users standing over Rinzler, now syncing to his repaired code- _again!-_ and thinking of the memories saved into his disk, Kaps made his decision. He was a firm believer in the power of information, and he always hoarded whatever tiny resource was thrown his way by chance. One the other hand, it wasn't like a few memory files would really put him anywhere near the Users' league, anyway.

"He's gonna wake up soon and you're really not going to like the program you meet," He started bluntly, and gained two annoyed glances for the comment. Ignoring them, the search engine took his disk in his hands, opening the files. Sam had flinched when he grabbed his disk, to Kaps' small amusement. _You have spent _way _too many cycles in the Games, amigo. _Offering the disk forward to the Users, he explained.

"I told you I was a search engine. I was queried with finding out what happened to both Flynns and CLU. I found Rinzler, brought him here and have so far kept him from derezzing from either energy drain or Gem. When you kindly removed his passcode, I accessed his memory files and transferred a copy over to my disk. They might… explain a few things to you." Kaps was tense; admitting to having basically hacked Rinzler was a risky move, possibly turning Alan against him, though he calculated that giving them the information had a higher chance of furthering the Users' trust in him than that outcome.

Neither User responded with anger, to his relief. Alan took the disk in his hands, seemingly afraid it might cut him. _It's not energized, for User's sake!_ Aware of the Alan's inexperience in the system, he prompted him.

"Just hold it in both hands and enter the commands for the file you want." Nodding, Alan stared warily at the holographic display before stating slowly and firmly.

"Playback selected files: chronological order." Kaps looked at the older man, bemused.

"You didn't need to do that out loud, you know."_ Man, these two really are lucky they have me around. _Sam looked from Kaps to Alan, who was staring off into the distance as the memories played back in his brain, eyes dilated.

"Alan, I don't think you needed to say that out loud, man." There was hint of laughter in Flynn's voice. There was no response from his friend, who was immersed in the last few microcyles of Rinzler's life, from the time he had rezzed his light jet behind CLU in pursuit of the Users to the time he had committed a (near) suicidal treason. Kaps had taken as little information as he'd thought was needed; there was always a chance CLU had embedded a Trojan worm in the files, and that was a risk he was trying to minimize. Turning again to Kaps, Sam grinned.

"You'll have to forgive Alan over there. He never really left the nineteen-eighties." Kaps had never heard of a 'nineteen-eighty,' and he gave the User a quizzical look. Sam seemed to realize his mistake and clarified.

"How should I put this in computer speak… an outdated operating system?" Kaps laughed, surprised by the cheeky analogy. Sam Flynn had done nothing so far but cause chaos on the Grid in his few cycles there, but Kaps was warming up to the guy who'd jumped fearlessly to the aid of two programs against Rinzler nevertheless. _Well, one _program, _anyway… _he still had trouble believing that Gem, contemptuous, bitter, conniving Gem, had ever been a wide-eyed ISO. Though flawed and occasionally more violent or temperamental than any programs he'd ever known, Kaps had never met a truly sadistic or cruel ISO. _I guess no one, program, ISO or User, is made that way. Corruption comes in many forms._

* * *

><p><em>I leapt over the disk easily, landing tensed to attack. Then the second white-blue blade came hurtling at me. <em>How-?_ The ISO seized her chance and her boots crashed against my helmet. Something snaps, but before I can comprehend the damage a second, far more powerful blow sends me, still stunned, over the edge of the platform. _No! I cannot fail- I am perfect! **That was never true and I know it. **_What? I don't know where these thoughts come from, like fine shards of derezzing data, unseen until they cut into you._

_I rush to the shattered window, sickeningly aware of my latest failure. _What's wrong with me?_ Helplessly I watched the jet streak away. There would be punishment for this- and I deserved it. This time. _

_ERROR. I have always deserved the punishments meted out to me; CLU is always justified. Arriving with a squad of Black Guard, my master was furious, as was I. I stared Jarvis down, wanting to scapegoat him and dismiss my own shortcomings. I had failed to stop the Users and the aberration- the disease- the ISO- from escaping. Jarvis, now disintegrating into shimmering pixels, had willingly betrayed the new system. I hated him, hated that he had dared to do what I couldn't. ERROR. _

_I was furious with Jarvis for failing CLU. End of line. No… there is more somewhere-ERROR._

_I am Rinzler. There is no more… but, there is, hidden, sick and dark, deep inside, incurable. CLU never rid me fully of the corruption that possessed me when he defeated the false deity… My memories are inaccessible from that time- the files are corrupted. What is CLU keeping from me-_

_ERROR. I am an extension of my master's will. There is nothing he withholds from me that I want to know. And then I am torn into motion by the only voice that matters. __**They cannot reach the portal. Rinzler, follow my lead. Standard pursuit formation. **__ We leap and defy the spatial relation equations that demand we remain on the horizontal planes of the system, soaring up again on fierce wings, and I am a weapon of my master entirely once more, his unspoken will alone binding me to my place. He does not need his commands to manifest tangibly- he has a remote sync to my disk that binds me to him. Manacles of the slave-_

_ERROR. My unknowable imperfection manifests itself again. Thoughts that are not mine. Imperfect emotions. My broken source code is held together by CLU's hope for me and our system, bound into this perfect faceless form, for faces are flaws incarnate. How much longer can this shell hold? I know the answer- it's deeply ingrained in me- _as long as CLU wishes it, I shall exist.

_We are superior in our fleet of wing fighters; their three-man can only hope to keep pace. The User is a terrible gunner, firing loose and predictable, overheating the rear defense functions. They'll crash; the code's not designed for that level of use, soon, the ammunition feeds jammed, and then they will fall into the Sea at the face of our unstoppable power, gods no longer, virus deleted, merely data in the Simulation._

_We bide our time, waiting for the foolish boy to crash the turrets. The guards keep the maker's son busy, though the basic function that they are; they're eliminated one by one. Finally the jet is defenseless; the distress on the User's face evident in my helmet's advanced visual feed. _No! This is wrong- ERROR.

_I am weak, too weak, I will fail CLU, I am in firing position and __**I**__**can't take the shot. **__My inability to carry out my directive is horrifying. Why can I not succeed in my only purpose?__The three-man spirals gracefully, desperately dodging and weaving as I circle above it into a better position to destroy them. During that instant, I see Flynn. His eyes find my own, hidden for thousands of cycles. USER-DIRECTIVE-DESTROY-FLYNN- His voice, barely audible, cuts through me with the vicious pain of-_

"_Tron, what have you become?" –My original disk, wielded by CLU, rammed into my chest, shattering my identity, my purpose. I do not know who Tron is but I- _ERROR. Prime directive: Fight for CLU. _No! I pull up, pain searing every circuit in my body as I fight the corruption. ERROR ERROR ERROR-_

_I'm finishing the game, this is how it has to end, CLU- ERROR- CLU IS THE CORRUPTION. And I- ERROR SOURCE CODE CORRUPTED INITIATE REPAIRS IMMEDIATELY- _

"_I fight for the Users!" The words drag painfully from my throat but at last I can say them again. I am too ruined, too corrupted, to open fire on CLU. My hands clench around the throttles of the fighter and I force the jet to its top speed. I will protect the system from the taint that has become both of us. _

Alan jerked back into reality with the jolt of an excruciating explosion and the sickening sensation of falling. The data after that point had been too scrambled for playback. Trembling, he focused on the holograph in front of him, the metal disk clenched in his hands, breathing shakily. He'd been in Tron (Rinzler's?) mind, feeling his terror and anger, the twisted pain that defined him. It was disturbing, surreal and left him feeling a bit weak in the knees. Looking back on the blur of emotion and data he'd just assimilated into his memory, he felt… pride in his creation. Unable to recognize his own name when his best friend called him by it, brainwashed and damaged, he'd still carried out his purpose to the fullest of his abilities.

"Alan, you okay, man?" Remembering Sam and Kaps behind him, he glanced up at them, blinking.

"Yeah… I'm fine… that was _really weird. _How long was I out?" Sam looked at him, confused.

"Uh, like a minute or so?" _Only a minute? _

"It took 123.86 nanocycles for you to sync the files to your disk and process them," Kaps added on helpfully. _Or, it would be helpful if I knew what a nanocycle was… _But the search engine wasn't done.

"That's really slow, you know. That's only a few bytes of data, takes me an average of 30.57 nanocycles to process and sync a few files, and is Sam right about you after all? I thought he was joking. Or are User processors just naturally slower?" Alan stared at the program, feeling somewhat offended by the comparison.

"Well, considering that the human brain stores information with bioelectric impulses, I'd imagine file conversion is a little more complicated!" Huffed the programmer, before something else caught his attention about Kaps' smug comment.

"And what do you mean, _is Sam right about me?" _Kaps looked shiftily between the Users before rapidly changing gears.

"Um, can I have my disk back now?" Slightly mortified, Alan realized he was still holding the key to Kaps' identity hostage. He was about to hand it back when inspiration struck him.

"Not until you tell me what Sam said."

* * *

><p><em>Writing successful. System reload complete in five… <em>This had been happening far too much lately. He couldn't remember too much yet. _Four… _He'd been fighting three programs- no- not just programs- there was another- _**I hurt a User. I violated my prime directive. In the presence of Alan-1. **__Three… _Focus, program! Survival first. Where was he, anyway? Sensory functions calibrated and he lay still, trying to orient himself. He was lying on his back; textile feeds indicated that the surface beneath him was probably a couch. He had a residual headache- _glitched Siren- _but appeared to be at full strength again. _Two… _voices filtered from above. Sam Flynn, by the sound of it.

"What do you mean, she 'just left'! You could have _said something!" _Why was somebody always yelling when he tried to reboot? He seriously considered just lying there, faking being still recalibrating, but that was the coward's way out. He'd have to face the fire sooner or later. Whatever fate was set for him, he deserved it. _One… systems at ninety-five percent capacity. Reload complete. _

* * *

><p>Kaps was in a rough spot, whether Flynn was beginning to trust him or not. He'd let Gem slip off rather than spend any more time in her charming presence, knowing that when bent on vengeance she was a primal danger to all around her, and he figured she would be best left to her own devices. One could not simply contain an angry Siren, after all. <em>Besides, she won't go far. I still have something she needs. <em>How could he explain that to the User who was currently staring him down, wary and angry, however? The more he knew that they didn't the more power he'd have. So he simple gave a dismissive shrug and looked away.

"Didn't think you'd care. I didn't want to disturb you while you were working on him, either." That last part was only partially true, but it seemed to mollify Sam to some degree. A flicker of motion caught his eye, and he looked over to the couch, where Rinzler was groggily sitting up, rubbing the recently-regenerated spot on his helmet.

Kaps tensed, immediately on guard, hand rising towards his disk. As he'd just seen a few micros ago, even major rewriting didn't slow the enforcer down for long. Noticing his reaction, both Users turned from him to face Rinzler, who seemed to hunch down on himself even further under their eyes, hands clenching into tight fists. There was a tense, awkward silence- neither Users nor program seemed to know what to say. Kaps leaned against the wall, getting comfortable, content to remove himself from the equation to best observe the outcome, a tried and true method of gathering information. _A User meets his dangerous, corrupted program for the first time. This should be good. _

* * *

><p><em>"Kevin Flynn, you said you knew my User?" The new system was in the earlier stages of construction, and the two were observing the new city from a striking stone outlook Tron had found while patrolling the Outlands.<em>

_ "Heck yeah, me and Alan go way back. He's a great guy, you two would groove. You know, if I can come here, you could go there, in all odds. I've been running some simulations, and it seems that if tangible matter can be converted to binary information, binary information should make the transition to tangible matter as well. The subconscious intentions of the creator that cause things to manifest the way they do in the digital world should be reversible… " Flynn rambled on, quickly leaving the subject of Alan-1 far behind. Tron forced down a sigh. Sometimes communicating with Users was much easier with an I/O tower between him and them. These digressions happened much less often. It wasn't like he'd never thought about visiting the User world, but he felt like… it would be wrong to leave the system, somehow. _

_ "No, I can't leave the Grid unprotected, you know that. What if something happened, a bug got into the system, or..." He trailed off, feeling somewhat abashed by his own reluctance. He had spoken apologetically, not wanting to seem offensive by not wanting to visit his friend's home. Flynn looked at him, head tilted, grinning. _

_ "Man, you _really _are just like Alan. No running off and leaving things unattended, or having too much fun either!" Tron was fairly sure that wasn't meant as a compliment, but he took it as one. Besides, programs that had 'too much fun' and consequently one too many of Zuse's suspicious drinks tended to run lightcycles into things._

_ Flynn's smile seemed to fade a little._

_ "Speaking of leaving things unattended, I should probably go, Tron." Flynn stood, already picking his way down to the waiting, still-rezzed light runner, an incredible vehicle still new to Tron._

_ "I'm not going to be able to spend as much time here, now that Jordan's pregnant, but I'm writing another admin to give you a hand," he started as they shot off towards the city, flying over the detailed terrain made possible by the most state of the art graphics card available. Tron nodded absently, still preoccupied by Flynn's sparse descriptions of Alan-1._

He'd often thought of what it would be like to meet his original User, hoped that Flynn would bring him over to the Grid, but ever since CLU had smashed that disk into his chest, ever since his circuits had rebooted a ominous orange, he'd rather derezz rather than be seen by his maker.

Staring down at his clenched fists, familiar circuitry occasionally flickering with ghostly whispers of orange, Tron realized he was a total loss. How could he possibly atone for what he had done? The innocent lives he'd taken, the near total destruction of Flynn's miracle, the death of his friend, which he could have prevented._ I don't deserve forgiveness._ Alan-1 broke the silence first, voice soft, as if he was afraid of setting Tron off again.

"Are you in any pain?" Did I miss anything in the repairs?" Yes, he was in pain, but he had been effectively repaired. His code was no longer damaged, and CLU's handiwork was mostly gone, a diagnostic scan revealed. Before, the scans accepted Rinzler's code as normal, but apparently his systems could respond to corruption again. _Mostly? Why would he risk keeping Rinzler online along with me? _There were echoes of false directives in his mind- _Protect CLU- ERROR. Destroy Users- ERROR. CORRUPTION DETECTED._

So he simply shook his head. There were no words to describe how truly sorry he was that he had proven himself useless when everything had counted on him the most. His best friend had paid with his life. There was nothing he could say.

"C'mon, man, _say something!" _Apparently Alan-1 thought there was something to be said. With some effort, he raised his head to look at his creator, acknowledging the command. He was filled with determination to respond. _I will still try to serve the Users._

" Alan-1- I'm so sorry- not good enough- corrupted- failed." _When did speaking become so difficult? _The subroutines necessary for communication were intact; he realized he had simply lost the learned nuances of speech. _What wasn't taken from me I forgot on my own. _Alan-1 placed a hand on his shoulder, and he flinched, tense. Even that gentle contact brought pain, racing from the hidden cracks beneath his armor to its shattered source. For thousands of cycles, he had been untouchable save for blows from enemies and punishment. No contact was ever willingly made with him, and he was at a loss as to how to respond after so long.

"If anything, _I _failed _you." _What did Alan-1 mean by that? The User continued, Tron's confusion unnoticed.

"You were written to be able to resist the hackers and viruses of 1982, and you did, for as long as you were in use on the ENCOM mainframe. I know Kevin patched and upgraded you, but you were still never made to withstand hacking as sophisticated as what CLU was capable of." Tron tried to process what Alan-1 was trying to tell him with limited success.

"I violated- prime directive- harmed Users- harmed the System." He protested, uncomprehending. Of course it was his fault. Sighing, Alan-1 asked him,

"Did you_ let _CLU repurpose you?" The very thought filled him with horror and indignation.

"Never!" His voice came out a distorted snarl, circuits flashing orange dangerously. How could Alan-1 possibly suggest that? To have _willingly become _Rinzler? As if summoned by name, he felt the directives grapple anew for control in his mind. His hands shook with the effort of remaining stationary, contained. The User merely pressed again, unflinching and firm.

"Did you or did you not willingly risk suicide and fight reprogramming despite the pain it caused you, just to try and destroy CLU?" Had he? He'd accepted that he'd probably derezz in the explosion in the hope that CLU be dragged to the bottom of the Sea with him.

"…I did." He'd never thought of it that way. Could Alan-1 be right?

"Despite everything that happened to you, and the Grid, you still fought for the Users when it counted the most. What more could I ask of you?" After letting that sink in for a moment, Alan-1 stood from where he'd been kneeling in front of him, offering him his hand.

"On your feet, program! This system needs repairs, and I need your help making them. You and I didn't make this mess, but we can clean it up." Without fully believing that any of this could be real, he accepted the hand, standing tall for the first time in over a thousand cycles. A resolve stronger than iron filled him as he fell into step behind his creator. _I will not fail again. _

_AN: Sorry for the brief hiatus guys! I've been looking forward to writing this scene for some time, but it was difficult to get right and constructive criticism is welcome. Especially suggestions for a better chapter title XD_

_Oh, and here's your Tron trivia for the day: Abraxas is a _real virus_! I was nerding around on the Tron wikia and I came across that. Did some research, and yes, it was a menace to DOS computers everywhere. You can watch it in action on Youtube. _

_Thanks to Cyberbutterfly, Silvara, Leighta Greenleaf, Zuzanny and Xire for chapter eight reviews as always, it means a lot that you take the time to give me feedback :)_


	11. Into the Night

Focusing on his surroundings, he scanned for hostiles, chastising himself for lapsing basic protocol after rebooting. He started in surprise when he registered the search engine and the other User in the room. He'd been too focused on his own issues and his User to notice…

The son of Flynn tensed when Tron scanned him, trying to assess the possible threat of him and the search engine, (who his program database identified as KPSE-V2-1863212, designation Kaps), and he looked away, chagrined. He was used to the unnerving effect his stare had on programs and Users alike. Rinzler had always felt a twinge of something disturbingly akin to loss from deep within himself when programs shrank away from him in fear, despite the satisfaction it brought him. He had foolishly half-expected that to change with his restoration to system monitor, even though he knew how illogical it was.

Alan-1 began to talk to Sam, something about interfacing the system programming from the inside, and Tron and Kaps stared each other down, more curious than wary. The program had saved his life; he had ulterior motives in doing so, but he still had to credit him where credit was due. The program was tense and ready to run, and something about the way he stood told Tron he spent most of his time that way. Unlike himself, this program wasn't a designed fighter. Rather, he looked sparely built, lacking the power necessary to hold in combat but skilled in escape and evasion. He couldn't quite bring himself to entirely trust him yet; he had no idea what his motivations were and he had willingly consorted with Gem. _Gem. _The thought of her made him shudder a little, remembering the long and painful interrogation the ISO had put him through.

* * *

><p>As is the habit of security monitors, Rinzler scanned him as soon as he registered him in the same file, digitally frisking him for malware or Trojan worms. Kaps froze as the monitor learned a few things about him that would now be saved into the system security database that he would rather have kept to himself. <em>Hey, hey! None of your business!<em> He shot a look at the tactless program, more annoyed than truly offended. _I look like a gridbug to you, buddy? _The Black Guard would shove you up against a wall and give you a nasty poke with those light staffs they menaced the populace with if you looked suspicious, _then_ scan you, so he guessed this was the security program version of polite.

Kaps wouldn't deny that Rinzler- _Tron! _made him nervous. He couldn't read the program's face, gauge what he was thinking. The deadly efficiency with which he'd easily held off three programs while straight out of major rewriting was nearly as unnerving. The program stood to the right of Alan-1, ready to spring into battle at any moment. He was built for combat, sleekly armored and lithely muscled, again making Kaps aware of his lack of physical stature. _And that is why every newly rezzed program wishes they were a security monitor. _Following what he supposed was Tron's line of sight, he saw the program was looking over at Sam, and Kaps realized he had the nerve to perform a security scan on a User. Flynn noticed the attention and stiffened, defensive, and the program ducked away as if chastised. What was that unreadable helmet hiding? What was a program like that processing?

But, Alan-1 had fixed the corruption (mostly) and seemed to trust the program, and he wanted to trust these new Users and their judgment, even if they made that really hard. Warily he engaged the monitor, sending a digital mess age through the Grid.

[So.] He'd never been good at starting conversations with programs he'd held prisoner, stabbed with a light disk and also contrarily saved from deresolution.

[So.] Responded the other, only marginally more talkative than Rinzler. Kaps tried again.

[Sorry about binding you to this file with restraints and all that.] He was, and he also really wasn't. He was sorry he'd had to do it and he was certainly sorry that Gem had taken advantage of Tron's helpless state to exact a little vengeance. He wasn't sorry he'd successfully carried out his prime directive as he saw it.

[You neutralized a threat to the system until it was dealt with. No apology necessary.] Well. That was a better reaction than could be expected.

[Why does she hate you so much?] They both knew who he was talking about. Tron visibly tensed when he received the binary message, seeming suddenly much more hostile and unreadable.

He wanted to delete that as soon as he sent it. _That was too much, why would I say that… _He knew exactly why he'd said that. He had to know, he'd wondered ever since she'd first laid eyes on Rinzler face down on the floor. _Glitched search engine, can't keep your nosy processes to yourself, can you? _He started when Tron actually replied.

[She has every reason in the system to hate me. I deserved what I received, and more.] Binary messages that didn't manifest openly conveyed no tone or cadence, but he still picked up on the anguish and guilt in the words. Kaps wanted leave it at that, grateful he hadn't gotten the monitor all rezzed up. But the way Tron accepted being tortured for things beyond his control struck him as wrong. He felt like he should say something, but this had never been his strong spot._ Speak, program! He's stuck in that loop until someone will break him out of it._

[Rinzler might have deserved it, but he derezzed over the Sea of Simulation.] Once more, a painfully long awkward silence reigned, both programs trying to avoid eye contact in the typical manner of males trying to avoid a tender moment or something equally horrible of the sort. Then something seemed to occur to the security monitor.

[My memory files were accessed shortly before I synced to my rewritten disks.] _Oh great. Knew that was gonna come back and bite me sooner or later. _Accessing memory files without consent was part of his line of work, but everyone always took it personally nonetheless. Remembering the violence and internal strife and the sickening feeling of overwhelming failure of those stolen memories, Kaps could see why Tron might not be too happy with him.

[I was queried with finding what happened to CLU and Flynn. I… received my answer from that information.] Deafening silence, despite the animated voices of the Users. Alan began to head for the door, oblivious to the tense conversation of the programs, Sam trailing after. They moved to follow, but Kaps hesitated and Tron looked at him, helmet tilted questioningly. He had to tell the security program the whole story.

[Alan has the files saved as well- I thought he might want to see them.] The program flinched visibly, sending no response. Kaps had hoped he wouldn't take it too hard. He turned to where the Users had vanished down the hall, dropping the subject.

[Now what?] He knew what he would do, but he wanted to know what Tron was planning, or what he would share of it with a nosy search engine.

[Fight for the Users.] And Kaps knew the program really would, until derezzed. Despite all that had happened, he was still loyal to the beings who had left him to be tortured and corrupted for those long megacycles. With no further words, Tron headed silently down the hall after Sam and Alan, leaving Kaps alone for a minute in his own processes before shrugging and heading after him.

* * *

><p>Alan was eager to explore the system from the inside; the possibilities where endless, especially for a programmer. Sam was a little leery of immediately plunging into the system with no thought to possible hostiles. Alan was confident in his security program's ability to protect them, however. And, as Users, they couldn't be <em>totally <em>helpless. _But somehow Kevin was at the end…_

_ Why didn't you feel like you could trust me? _Pushing those thoughts aside, he started for the door, striding down the dim hallway and out into the digital frontier beyond.

It was breathtaking, the architecture vastly alien and also strikingly familiar, filled with the spirit of his best friend, inspired and beautiful, traced in lines of cool light. Kevin had sketched similar scenes with glowing buildings in graphite, telling Sam all about an amazing city he was building in a computer, father and son both imagining what could be, not knowing the separation of imagination and reality. Remembering Kevin's stories and seeing them shattered before him, real and damaged, was heartbreaking. Wind- _in a computer?- _brushed his face as he took in the ancient ruined paradise. Sam and the programs filed out behind him as Alan closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath of the sharp air. It was on his shoulders now, and Sam's, to make right what had happened here.

* * *

><p>It was a violent part of the Grid, rife with confused Guards and rebelling programs. <em>The war is over, you glitches. Nobody won. Now go back to your pointless auxiliary duties. <em>The I/0 light glared from the sky, an omnipresent reminder of what she had set out to do. A cry of fear sounded out as one program was ganged up on by a pair of Guards, who then were set on by five programs in deep blue circuitry, derezzing unceremoniously. Tightening her cloak around her, she looked away as they sprinted by, shouted excitedly as they caught sight of a tattered squad of the Guard down the street.

Ducking into a building, she quietly made her way to the lowest level, traipsing down shadowed stairwells, head down and hood drawn. No point in attracting attention from the few programs that seemed to just be standing around, paying her no processing. She knew they were hired security- if she made the wrong move, she would exit as tiny bits of inactive code. There was a single tile of the glossy black floor that was slightly skewed in the corner of the basement level, and with the seamless routine of habit she knelt and slid it aside to reveal an indigo-lighted keypad. In a blur of motion she entered the twenty digit passcode and stepped back.

The wall in front of her slid up silently, revealing a program behind a code masker that manifested as a translucent force field. He was slouched in a roomy chair, basic circuitry trimmed in dark blue. His pale face looked spectral in the dim light flickering from circuitry on the walls. Seeing her, he grinned.

"Hey there, stranger. Haven't had the pleasure in quite a few cycles now. Almost forgot your pretty face." She rolled her eyes at his usual clumsy attempt at charm.

"I need a jet." He gave her a mock glare, huffing.

"Not even a 'hello, Ace', 'missed you, Ace,'? Gem grit her teeth. She'd forgotten how annoying this program could be.

"I can just take my business and my concentrated energy elsewhere, you know." That seemed to promptly sober the other program, grin gone, and he tapped a command into a keypad in the arm of his chair without further comment. The wall to her left slid up, revealing batons displayed on racks.

"These are all the jets left in the system," Ace said with certainty. _I'm sure all the others selling contraband batons say the same thing. _During CLU's reign and after, a competitive black market in weaponry and vehicles had sprung up. Grating on the nerves as he was, Ace was one of the best.

"CLU's entire fleet was aboard the Rectifier, and was destroyed along with it. These I've relieved from Guards left behind and the Armory." The arena had shut down after the explosion; she and her sisters long gone, no admin to monitor the Games, and there was no champion to challenge new programs. The Armory had of course been raided by search engines and enterprising programs. Still, it was a sad collection, only around twenty one-man interceptors. There were no three-man jets.

"I need two." Ace raised an eyebrow.

"Need two, maybe, but how many can you pay for?"

In response she coolly withdrew five bright vials from her flowing cloak's storage space. Their glow shone in Ace's eyes, which widened hungrily. She smiled tightly. He was under the spell of all that possible sustenance now. Zuse had had caches of energy stored in a subterranean level of the End of Line, should the need ever arise, that he'd told CLU was unused, proceeding to successfully keep the tyrant in that illusion for countless megacycles. The sole heir of that wealth, Gem had discreetly used it to bend programs to her needs in the anarchy of the post-CLU Grid. A system starved for energy was vulnerable to such manipulation, and this program was no exception.

Ace regained his composure, eyes hard and calculating once more.

"Still only one baton you've got there, sweetheart." Leaning back in the tattered chair, he gave her a smug grin.

"You see, the Users still like us enough to fix the energy flow throughout the system, so I'd say you might find that a little less valuable these cycles now that programs aren't derezzing on the streets from energy loss." She glared, frustrated beyond articulation. Sam Flynn and his Rinzler-sympathizing User friend had made her life harder yet again. She had things to do, time was running out, and she did not need to haggle with some diskless contraband dealer right now. If she fought and long enough, undoubtedly she'd get her way, but she didn't want to be here for a nanocycle longer than she had to.

"Fine, you thieving Trojan worm!" Ignoring the insult, Ace smiled and derezzed the code maskers, striding forward and accepting his payment before gesturing grandly to the baton racks.

"Don't try anything cute and make me get the boys upstairs, now." Not intimidated by the threat, she snatched a baton, scanning to make sure it was undamaged and indeed a jet, and stalked wordlessly to the door leading to the stairwell.

Once out in the city, she moved to clip her baton to her armor and realized the Siren suit she'd been retrofitted with by Zuse had no visible baton clips. She opened the file that contained her armor coding and found the inactive clip file. Her eyes flashed once as she activated it and the change synced to her disk.

Holstering the jet in its newly rezzed baton clip, she looked again to the portal, eyes narrow and face set in determination. There would be no retreat now.

* * *

><p>Tense and on the lookout for hostiles, shadowing Sam and Alan silently, the security monitor stalked along a little behind Kaps. He could tell letting the two Users just wander around the unstable and violent city was against the security monitor's instincts, but the program would never say that to them. He had some concerns of his own to take care of, however. The longer Gem was gone doing Users-knew-what the more nervous he became. She was planning something, and whatever it was he was sure it wasn't going to impact him or the Grid in any positive way. Tron was on the same line of code.<p>

[Search query- where is the ISO Gem and what is is she doing?] Opening a new dialogue history, Kaps replyed.

[Query received. I don't have the answer, but give me a few decacycle's and I'll get back to you.]

[Acknowledged. I will remain with the Users and ensure their safety.] Kaps grinned. _Finally some action._

[Ciao!] Bidding Tron a User farewell he didn't really get himself but that certainly sounded cool, he turned on his heel and sprinted, whooping as he rezzed a sleek lightcycle midair, streaking off into the city. He never saw the look of suprise on the monitor's face as the obviously modified lightcycle sped away, lit blue-green, but he tittered imagining it nonetheless.

* * *

><p>Sam and Alan whirled as the search engine vanished in a blue-green blur of light, gleeful shout echoing behind him. Tron narrowed his eyes as he scanned the rapidly receding lightcycle. <em>Where on the motherboard did he <em>get _that thing! _It had advanced scanning protocols and appeared to be capable of short bursts of explosive speed, among other less noticeable changes. That, combined with the interesting history he'd gleaned on the program from his security scan made him very curious about the program.

"-Just took off!" He turned his attention from the long-gone program to the two extremely confused looking Users behind him. Sam was gesturing and vocalizing his apparent confusion. Alan raised an eyebrow, and Tron realized he owed them an explanation, which made him want to cringe, though he stifled that impulse of weakness. His aversion to speech had its reasons, but he had his duties nevertheless.

"Sent him. To find Gem." _I sound like a corrupted audio file playing back for User's sake! _Sam eyed him with extreme skepticism.

"And _how _exactly did you tell him to go find her?" He'd forgotten the basic differences between Users and programs once more.

"Sent a binary message. Inaudible." Alan was looking at him with some concern, undoubtedly related to his awkward replies, which he ignored, standing easily while attempting to appear relaxed, in control, no longer corrupted. It was an increasingly easy illusion to maintain, but still more difficult than it should have been.

* * *

><p>Tron was still a little messed up, if the way he barked out a few words in place of structured speech was anything to judge by. That inhuman helmet still made Sam a little wary, but he was finding the longer he spent near the program the less he feared him. Alan had explained the basis of the problem: the program's root code had been deleted in places and replaced with new code- the advanced diagnostics options the disk display had had made it much easier for Alan to pinpoint it. He'd had to leave the code and simply overwrite it until he could graft code over from another version of Tron, if one still existed. Despite that, he couldn't dispel the irrational fear that Rinzler was lurking just below the surface, ready to destroy Tron, Sam and Alan any second.<p>

He didn't even like thinking that- it was unfair to Tron, and he felt like a kid scared of the monsters under the bed, waiting for a phantom to return to haunt him.

_That's why I came back here. I have to move on. The Grid has to move on. _Standing next to his godfather in the city his father had built, Sam faced the darkened sky feeling as if he could conquer anything.

_AN: Another OC, I know, sorry! Don't worry, you won't see too much of Ace, just wanted to put a name to a random program she has to deal with. Constructive criticism and reviewing is really appreciated- I read all of your reviews and they inspire me and give me ideas I'd never even thought of before._

_Seriously, some of your reviews are freaking amazing- sure have taught me a thing or two about reviewing! You know who you are :)_

_Thanks to Xire, Silvara and Cyberbutterfly for reviewing Chapter Nine!_


	12. Acceleration

Kaps had derezzed the cycle as soon as he was out of Tron's sight; it was easier to work on foot when tracking down programs. He'd just felt like showing off a little. The city was his ally- hundreds of traffic monitoring sensors in the pedestrian paths and lightcycle circuits recorded the history of those who passed over them, originally designed by Shaddox to detect high-traffic areas for congestion relief in busy areas. It didn't take very high clearance to access the records- clearance search engines had, and utilized. Kneeling, he ran a hand over one of the panels in a central sector of the city. If Gem had gone anywhere, from the file she'd left chances were she'd have come through here.

This was a major monitor panel; it was the size of the busy intersection he was standing on, with an individual sensor in each hexagonal section of the street coding. A few hundred programs had been through her in the last decacycle, and with inhuman speed the program began sifting through their records for Gem. The data trawling relaxed him; it was in his nature and something sane. Anything normal in this fragged-up system was precious. Designations flashed through his protocols in bright flashes of raw information. _Gotcha! _She'd been here, and he saved her latest location and trajectory into his digital schematic of TRON city, highlighting possible routes she could've taken. It took a while, but he used the system to hunt down the tricky Siren. She'd obviously been in a hurry, having made no attempt to cloak her movements.

That made him nervous- sneaky program that she was, he fully expected her to have taken evasive action to help throw pursuers off. But as he tracked the Siren deeper and deeper into the city, he realized she might have simply be counting on the strife and chaos thronging the streets of the district she'd ventured into to shake him.

Designated Epsilon, it was a longtime hub of rebel cells and resentful programs. Officially a residential sector, it had compact apartment complexes that rebels, obsolete strays and contraband dealers burrowed deep into, sheltered from Recognizers. Clu had tried to wipe the area clean several times, razing and rebuilding. For all his efforts, Epsilon's reputation withstood tyranny with impudence. Carefully neutral as he was, it was the sort of place that made Kaps nervous. As a program with not set allies or enemies, association with a rebellious area could be a fatal move. Normally he stayed as far away as he could. The entire district had exploded into violent anarchy as soon as CLU's regime had begun to crumble in his absence. Confused squads of Guards fought back, but their efforts were uncoordinated and lacked any of CLU's cunning strategy that once had made them effective.

Kaps started and pressed up against a building as five programs with deep indigo circuits ran past him, yelling harsh war cries as they charged a squadron of the basic enforcers, cutting into them without hesitation. He turned away, flinching as they derezzed, the indigo rebels victorious and challenging those around them. He stepped past the fading remains without looking down at them, but he still felt a stab of pity.

_We all just carry out our directives. They were commanded, and they obeyed… and payed with their lives. _

Here unrepaired gridbug attacks of long ago and other signs of neglect had damaged some of the traffic sensors he depended on- he could narrow Gem down to a block, but that was all. He eliminated most of it easily; the buildings either abandoned or held by hostile looking rebels. Gem had come here for something- he just needed to find out what. He doubted it was to consult with the damaged, mostly obsolete rabble that stared at him with cold eyes as he walked past where they lurked in the shadows, waiting for him to make a move, ready to attack.

Suddenly it clicked- this was Ace's block. There were a few weapons dealers around too, but he doubted Gem would resort to direct violence- she'd send out a program to do her bidding instead, someone starved and desperate with enough skill with a disk to derezz whoever she wanted. So what did she want with a contraband vehicles dealer?

_Someone starved and desperate. _That line of code brought back a few unpleasant memories, but he pushed them away, considering his next move.

Programs like Ace could be dangerous- they lived a risky life, and they had to be quick to strike or be struck down by either system monitors like the rapidly crumbling Guard or rivals looking to get rid of competition. _But I _know_ Ace. He won't give me any grief. _Without further deliberation, Kaps slipped into the unassuming apartment complex Ace had made into his lair.

Tron did not like this at all. So far the system had been restored to 85.67 percent functioning capacity from the 60.4 percent when he'd come back online by the Sea by Sam and Alan-1, but the Users seemed to be trying to derezz themselves in the process. They seemed attracted to the most unstable areas of Gamma sector, the sector they'd rezzed into.

Sam was up ahead, and he called over to Tron and Alan-1, who were trailing behind the energetic young Flynn.

"Alan, I might need a hand with this." Alan-1 and Tron managed to exchange a look, despite the latter's helmet. Sam had said that as if it was something new every time he found a damaged area. Despite Sam's own extensive programming ability, Alan-1 was the master with antiquated systems like the Grid. As the two drew nearly, Tron tensed. One of the largest complexes in Gamma, now abandoned, the looming structure had ugly fractured marks lacing its form, the work of gridbugs. Tron grimaced in disgust at the sight. _I could've prevented this. _Developing sectors like Delta might be understandable for an occasional attack, but Gamma? That was pure neglect. He'd been too busy maintaining CLU's order, destroying rebellion in the cradle, deleting ISOs, to protect the system he loved as was his purpose.

He snapped back to focus as Sam slid open the deactivated motion-sensing door to the unstable building, taking off after him as he stepped into the building.

"Sam! Don't!" He and Alan-1 called out in unison, racing towards the younger User. Tron exploded forward, leaving the User far behind, totally honed in on Sam, analyzing the situation and frantically recalculating. That structure was unstable, dangerous, there was a 95 percent chance it would derezz if Sam went farther inside, with an 85 percent chance of derezzing or severely damaging the User in the process. _Do Users not have self-preservation protocols at all! _As if Flynn senior had not answered that question a thousand times over.

"Slowly back out now- any sudden movements could trigger deresolution," he instructed, voice clear, the endangerment of a User's life overriding thousands of cycles of aversion programming. Alan caught up to Tron and they both stood tense and ready to leap to action. Sam rolled his eyes at both of them, uncomprehending the terrible risk he took just standing there.

"I've been in a million old buildings like it before," He assured them, gingerly continuing into the apartment complex. A few more of its remaining circuits flickered out.

Every guardian protocol Tron had was running, and he stood hesitantly in the doorway, ready for the coming disaster but unwilling to catalyze it by entering.

"Sam…" Alan-1's voice was incredibly forceful and promised retribution to those who disobeyed. Still visible in the main lobby of the structure, Sam ignored him and slowly knelt to interface its code, movements designed not to perturb the unstable building further.

The world seemed to slow down then. He felt like the system was stalling around him as the building's last circuits flickered out and the floor beneath Sam derezzed into brilliant shards. As he began to fall, Tron was already sailing towards him in a perfect arc, diving through the collapsing structure, unaware of anything but Sam's safety. Alan-1 cried out and started forward, his voice faraway, but Tron was already gone.

010100110110000101101101

Nodding a quiet acknowledgement to the ragtag security programs stationed at various levels, Kaps refused to let his uneasiness show. In here, he couldn't run, he couldn't escape- _shut up, self-preservation protocols! _Praying to whatever Users might listen that the code he'd been given long ago still worked, he entered the passcode and stood back, tense. He started minutely when the wall in front of him slid up.

Ace was slouched back in his seat, but he sat up upon seeing who had come by.

[Greetings, program! I thought you derezzed megacycles ago, you glitch!] Kaps allowed himself to relax a little.

[Don't be sound so disappointed.] Ace shrugged, grinning.

[So, finally springing on a new runner? I've got a few, but getting new ones is tricky- search engines haven't turned up the ones CLU confiscated, and I wonder if the glitch didn't just derezz them all. Users, I'm not sure if it's better or worse now that he's gone. You know what happened to him, anyway? I've just heard rumors, no one around here ever knows anything anyway.]

[Sending out search engines, huh, and you didn't even process on your old buddy? That's cold circuited!] The dealer laughed at Kaps' reaction, and the search engine was tempted to linger a little and catch up with one of the few programs he'd known from before the coup who was still around. But, as always, he had data to find and programs to track. Ace, however, was happily rambling about light runners and rebel antics and whatever else happened to cross his processes.

[Over-energized sentry stumbled in here a few cycles ago, got a jet and a bike off of him…]

[Ace.]

[…Look on his face when he rebooted was priceless…] The constant binary feed continued without pause.

[ACE.]

[…Yeah?]

[I'm looking for a program- a Siren- who might've been through here. Bring up any memory files?] The contraband dealer's face fell as he processed that not only had Kaps not come by to say hello, he wasn't buying anything either.

[Oh. Uh, yeah, there was one through here a few microcycles ago, you just missed her.] Kaps was relieved that somehow he was still on the right track.

[She bought a jet- tired to buy two, but I'm not so desperate as to charge that low.] _What on the motherboard does she want with a _light jet?

[Thanks.] Ace nodded, before querying,

[What do you want with a Siren, anyway? Just another query?] He knew it had been a long time since Ace had heard any good news, and even longer since Kaps had any to report. So he was more than happy to finally get to tell somebody what they wanted to hear.

[Not just any query- a User sent me. They're back.] His friend's mouth dropped open.

"WHAT!" Apparently binary alone couldn't contain the dealer's shock.

Kaps merely nodded, turning and making for the stairwell. The trail was getting cold.

[I'll see you around, program.]

010100110110000101101101

Everything snapped back into realtime as he tackled Sam midair, angling their trajectory so his back took the impact from the far wall of the building, his momentum punching through the weakened and disintegrating code, skidding them across the ground beyond on his shoulders, protecting the User from injury to the maximum of his ability, only letting go of him as they slowed. His back and shoulders sang with pain, and diagnostics informed him that he had received significant structural damage.Nearby, he heard Sam groan and sit up. _I suppose that was a success, then, seeing as he'll live to try to kill himself again in another cycle._

"Tron?" He heard Sam's voice, far away, slowly focusing. The young Flynn had recovered from his briefly stunned state, and was peering down at Tron, who realized he had not gotten up; in fact, he was still awkwardly sprawled across the cool hexagonal tiles of the street, and wasn't too inspired to move either.

"Sam!"Alan-1 was approaching, and Tron heard him embrace Sam as he recalibrated his static-filled vision. His sight came back online just in time to see Alan-1 get over his relief and shove Sam back angrily, suddenly looking fiercer than CLU or Sark or any virus he'd ever encountered.

"What the _hell _where you _thinking! _You just about killed yourself- and Tron!" Sam seemed to wilt a little with every word, realizing the gravity of his mistake. He bowed his head, but said nothing. Still furious, the older User turned from Sam to face him. There was some sort of interference still affecting his vision, he realized as he stood up, wincing a little. He was still in functional condition, but barely. Alan-1 looked at him with some concern, especially at his face, or rather, his helmet.

"Um, Tron, I think you hit your head…"

010100110110000101101101

Kaps wished for the millionth time in the past cycle that the traffic panel network was still an open network- CLU had made it admin access only, to the chagrin of search engines everywhere. Thus, he had to go from panel to panel, _so _tedious- and most of Epsilon's panels didn't even work! But here he was, that's the game for you._ I'll find that Siren if it derezzes me!_

He froze when a hand grabbed his shoulder- _maybe that was the wrong phrase to use in Epsilon. _He had been hunting down the next panel, and he'd let himself get too focused on what he was doing, hadn't been on the lookout- a white gloved hand pulled him into an alleyway. He knew who it was before he saw her face- she would never leave a loose end like him running around. He'd been sort of hoping she'd come looking for him and save him a little time. Of course, he wasn't masochistic enough to _really_ want her to find him. 

010001110110010101101101

Of course he'd have come trailing after like an annoying Bit. She'd given him his query and he would either report back or derezz trying, whether he wanted to or not. His eyes, perpetually partially obscured by bangs, traveled all over her face, hungrily searching for the subtle hints to what she was processing. She was confident the glacial stare she gave him hid all emotion, however.

"I see you've taken it upon yourself to complete our transaction." Kaps shrugged off her acid tone, half-smile tugging at his mouth.

"You know me. I spent _way _too long trawling the Sea to not expect my just deserts." _And you'll get them. _She saw through his little unspoken lie- he'd been sent here by the Users. He would've come anyway, but he'd been fast- too fast for a program who always had some other query to run.

"Never knew you liked flying." She looked up sharply, but Kaps didn't meet her eyes, preoccupied with accessing the memory files she wanted. He was stalling, fiddling around with the files on his disk. _How much does he know? _She rolled her eyes, ignoring his question.

"Never knew you liked answering queries without pay." An unspoken threat that once would have had him jumping to attention, but now held little sway. He met her stare, deceptively neutral.

"Well, if you have something else you need found, ask now." In response she drew three vials of energy from her cloak, trying to distract him with the promise of sustenance.

" _The files,_ Kaps." He bravely held onto his disk, eyes still locked onto hers.

"Whatever you're trying to find, I guarantee I can find it faster. I calculate I won't even need a jet." She clenched her jaw, eyes narrow, and held out her hand commandingly. _You would function so much longer if you would just take 'none of your business' for an answer._

010100110110000101101101

He relinquished his disk, and after a few nanos, Gem shoved it back into his hands, eyes flashing as the memories synced to her source code. Whatever effect the violent images had on her, her iron composure masked them entirely. He accepted his payment dejectedly, putting on a defeated air. _Don't mind me. I'll just be going now. No need to be suspicious._ Since the Siren was unwilling to talk, he'd have to tail her from a safe distance for a while to find out what she was planning. Espionage was not his favorite technique, but while time consuming, the results were always good.

Without sparing her another glance, he slipped from the alley into the street, intent on letting her get totally convinced he was gone before resuming following her digital trail.

010001110110010101101101

She didn't like it- annoying and persistent as he could be, Kaps was useful. _There are other search engines out there. _He was walking down the street, pressed close to the wall, weary and defensive as always, ready to run. _This could be difficult._ His focus was on a gang of cyan circuited programs up ahead. Now was her chance. _Oh_ _well_. She emerged into the street, breaking into a swift, light footed run as she drew nearer, disk charging in her hand. _You should never have come here, program._

010100110110000101101101

The harsh report of feet on the pavement approaching from behind alerted him of trouble, but it was too late by the time he leapt in instinctive evasion, the whirring hum of a disk roaring from behind serving as prologue to the searing pain that dragged down from the base of his neck to the side of his disk lock. He hit the street hard, a lightcycle swerving and nearly turning him into a flattened pile of code. Everything had sped up, and light left streaky blurs in his vision. Every circuit in his body was on fire with pain. _What… the hell? _An alien, User term formed in his scattered processes.

ERROR ERROR ERROR- _I don't have time for this right now! _ Staggering to his feet, he lurched forward, blurry lightcycles racing past him. For a terrifying handful of nanos, he could barely stand, unable to process the violent damage he'd received and the current peril he was in at the same time. Shaking his head, he staggered forward and rezzed his bike, accelerating haphazardly, weaving drunkenly through the slower traffic. _Gotta _get out of here _right now, just hang on, Program!_

He activated his bike's proximity scanning protocols, trying to see if he had any company. In the process, he lost focus on his surroundings just long enough for the HUD on his lightcycle helmet to scream an impact alarm at him, his lapse costing him. He swore and wrenched the bike into a near right angle turn, avoiding collision with a light tank by less than a micrometer, taking shuddering breaths as he accelerated down a main circuit, rocketing towards Gamma.

The proximity scans were picking up a jet, one-man, following and gaining. He smiled grimly- this was bad, and from here he would either seal his fate or make a memorable but possibly equally fatal evasive attempt. It was time to play his trump card.

Kaps hadn't always accepted energy as payment- affluent, powerful programs often had something much better for those who knew how to ask. Ironically, one of his current pursuers' closest consorts, mentor even, was responsible for his ability to escape now.

_The white lit program slid a drink across the bar to him. The hum of the powerful energy was alluring; he hadn't had anything this expensive in a long time. It was, obviously, a ruse to loosen his speech centers and possibly disable a few judgment protocols. He forced himself to ignore it and focus on the business at hand._

_[What do you want me to find, Zuse?] Programs respected those who didn't waste their time. This program, however, had never really gotten the memo, apparently. He looked at Kaps askance, overacting offense. _

_[My, aren't _we_ conversational! Well, I have several… _sensitive _things I need you to research, but first, here's some motivation. I've heard you only have a runner?] Suspicious, he nodded. What was Zuse playing at?_

_[That must make city transit… interesting.] With a flourish, the barkeeper produced a slightly bulky baton. Kaps sat up, interested. Instantly he scanned the baton, and what he found made his eyes go wide. It was obviously tailored to the sensibilities of a search engine- long-range keyword scanning, automatic proximity scans, and a few tricks up its exhaust vents to boot. He wanted that bike with a covetous zeal- runners were a pain at low speeds and made staying tuned in to the system challenging. _

_[Motivation is the key to fast results with you search engines.]_

Gem was almost within firing distance, and if she was a good shot, he was in big trouble. He was almost within Gamma- so close- but he needed an escape and he needed it now. His lightcycle had indeed a few tricks- for a handful of nanos, it would transform into the fastest thing on the Grid, artfully modified by Zuse into a quintessential escape bike. It could access far more processing power than any vehicle ever built, if only briefly.

_Activate supercharge._ As usual, the HUD software second-guessed his command.

_Confirm activation? _

_Confirm. _ With a violent roar, the bike accessed ninety-five percent of available processing power, drawing directly from Kaps, whose hands clenched tight, white knuckles visible within his fingerless gloves. He grimaced as he shot down the main circuit, every byte of processing power he had going into steering at such high speeds._ Ciao, you deceivingly attractive Trojan worm! _

He didn't want to draw the Siren right to the Users, though- that would open a whole other file of gridbugs. He weaved down the auxiliary circuits of Gamma, less of a lightcycle and rider and more of a bolt of blue-green energy coursing through the system, too fast for Gem to track.

It felt like an entire cycle had come and gone since he lurched into supercharge, but in truth only a half a nanocycle had passed. His breathing was ragged and echoed strangely in his lightcycle helmet's visor. _I'm never sure if that's the most awesome thing ever or a terrifying near-deresolution experience or both. _A proximity scan check confirmed that he'd left Gem far behind, her jet far outpaced. Ensured of his safety for the moment, he slowed back into fifth, then fourth gear, trying to ease down from supercharge but still decelerating abrubtly.

With urgency still coursing through him, he darted through Gamma towards the Users, noticing with some concern that his circuits were beginning to flicker. His runtimes had a slight but still ominous lag. _I am NOT going to crash, I am NOT going to crash-_ He'd drained himself nearly entirely fleeing Gem. _Just a little farther…_

_AN: Sorry about the hiatus, I did not die or become a POW or anything, but I did irreversibly lose the first third of this chapter to a laptop crash (damn gridbugs eating my fanfiction!) and had to redo all that and finish it, throw in some school exams, the beginning of show season in the horse world and random time-consuming real world crap and… yeah. Well, I'll try to keep it from happening again! This was a tricky one to plot out and write, so tell me if it seems 'off' in any way. Also, does anyone know of a reference to Grid time units? _

_Thanks to Xire, Cyberbutterfly, Silvara and Zuzanny for reviewing Chapter Ten. Reviews keep me alive, guys!_


	13. Query Found

Gem swore as Kaps vanished into a streak of light arrowing towards Gamma. She'd hoped to pick him off before that had a chance to happen, but the damn search engine had managed to survive once more. Zuse had shown her the schematics for the bike proudly as he'd modified it, and she knew full well she would never catch him now. Her only hope was that the damaged program might crash and derezz that way- the Users would assume after a while that he'd skipped out, and would forget about her. But, luck had never favored the ISOs, and she turned from her pursuit towards the Portal in the distance. _Time is short, but I will not fail. I will do what they are too blind to see must be done._

The program cocked his head, not understanding until he ran a full diagnostic what Alan-1 saw. _Armor damage sustained: Combat helmet severely fractured. Immediate repair required. _With one hand he reached up and he shuddered with horror- a fine web of cracks radiated from the back of his helmet where his head had hit the ground. The interference he had detected was a disruption in the visual feed from the helmet's damaged AV filters.

_His wrists and feet were bound, and he hung limp and broken from the restraints, on fire with pain. His vision and hearing were swamped in static. _Flynn… Alan-1… please help me, wherever you are…_ Why was he left to this? Why did the Users let him be warped and destroyed from the inside out? CLU was still working with his disk, facing away from him as if to show him how little he feared the once-invincible monitor. He was counting down microcycles until the latest barrage of rewrites and overrides was forced into his corrupting system. Satisfied, CLU walked over to him, holding the disk up, mocking, tormenting. Slowly the system admin walked behind him, and his back tensed, and his circuits flickered between cool, healthy blue light and sickly orange, disk lock exposed to the corrupted identity disk about to be synced into it yet again._

_"You could make this so much easier if you would just _trust me, _Rinzler_. _You've been corrupted, damaged. I don't know what they did to you, but I'm just trying to fix it." They? Who were they? Flynn was his friend, the ISOs his charges to protect like the programs, CLU was the traitor. He was lying, he's lying, he _has to be _lying_! _It was too hard to think, to remember…_

_"Show me your face. I want to see what you look like after the… repairs I've made." He couldn't fight, he couldn't even stand up if the restraints were released, but he could defy still. He had defied power before for what he believed in, though he had trouble remembering where or when that had been. His helmet was his only defense, and he refused to relinquish it, ragged breaths echoing tinnily. After he had failed to comply for several long nanocycles, CLU's smile turned cold in a way that Flynn's never had._

_"Still having trouble?" The disk snapped into place and he opened his mouth in a soundless scream, refusing give it sound, let CLU know he'd caused it. The obsidian helmet hid contorted expressions from the world._

System syncing to ID disk… _It hurt. It unleashed burning venom into his circuitry and ate into his source code. Rewriting from Alan-1 or Flynn had never hurt like this. Wait- who was Alan-1…?The world faded out, and when he recalibrated, he had no idea how long he'd been unconscious, blearily focusing on the gold-lit figure in front of him. _

_"Now let's see if you can remember now what your prime directive is." Fight for the Us- ERROR. CORRUPTION DETECTED. No, that's not right- PRIME DIRECTIVE: FIGHT FOR CLU. No, no, he won't say it, that's not right-_

_"C'mon, man! I know you have it, just say it!" CLU's intense eyes are micrometers from his helmet, trying to see into the tangled processes within, and he is glad for the barrier between them. Words form in his speech centers, his own auto defenses screaming error, but deep inside, beyond protocol, they feel right._

_"I… fight… for the... Users!" Disappointment clouds the administrator's face, before it hardens into something sharper and crueler. How could _this_ be his friend, one he should trust? CLU shakes his head. _

_"You fight for _me_, Rinzler." Yes, that was correct, but he knew at the same time it was so wrong. He was corrupted, couldn't remember…. CLU yanked the disk back from his back with enough force to make the security program flinch. _

_"Give it time… you'll remember." For some reason that assurance makes him shudder with fear. _

_ Time blurred into unmetered eternity. He can't remember why he must not submit to his own prime directive. No matter what CLU patches, overwrites, or deletes, he simply cannot. Time and time again CLU demands to see his face, but he will not retract his helmet. He has no reason left, it has been lost to rewriting and reconfiguring, but fear remains. He does not know why or how he knows, but if he retracts his helmet, confirms his directive; he will become something horrible, some monster. Finally CLU relents; not to give up but to try a new tactic._

_"Your speech centers are ruined, Rinzler. I can't fully delete them without destroying your ability to communicate, but I'm going to install a loop function that will keep the corruption from spreading." _

_He reboots to find a deep electronic purr vibrating from the back of his throat, the loop locking his voice into uselessness. Speech will come now at a great effort to him. CLU destroyed all that he could not control._

_"I'm sorry it has to be this way, Rinzler. Your helmet also proved… difficult. If its function remains voluntary, it could destabilize and contaminate other functions with corruption." Mute and faceless. _Ithas to bethisway_, _Rinzler_._

_ That is not his name._

_Rinzler. An identity forced upon him. _

_ERROR._

_Rinzler. Who he has always been._

"Tron?" He starts, jerking back into the present. Sam and Alan-1 are looking at him, concerned. He realizes he's been running his hand over the cracks again and again, lost in a memory file. Alan-1 never removed the loop function designed to limit speech, he realized. The broken growl is back in full force, and Sam is eyeing him warily. Sickened by the distrust in the User's eyes, he looks away.

"You okay, Tron?" _Do I have to answer that?_

"Fine," He assures Alan-1, trying to relax. On reflex he runs a cursory scan of the area, and notices a modified light cycle approaching at speed. He turns towards it instinctively, focusing beyond the Users to where the bike is yet out of sight. A trajectory scan reveals an erratic navigation pattern and unsteady weaving. The lightcycle is easily distinct as Kaps', but the driving is concerning him.

"Kaps is coming. And something's wrong."

Tron's freaky purr and unresponsive lapse are making him nervous, and the program's assurances to Alan and himself are not entirely convincing, but before he can dwell on it the program turned with raptorlike intensity to a point in the distance, seeing something that either is invisible to Sam or isn't there at all.

"Kaps is coming. And something's wrong." Alan's eyes met with his, and they turned to follow the security program's line of sight towards where a distant, high pitched engine whine, slightly more powerful sounding than the bikes he'd ridden here and nearly died on in the Games Grid can be heard, getting steadily louder. For the longest time they merely listen. _Something's wrong. _He can't shake a shadow of foreboding. Despite Quorra on the other side, despite Alan, he was afraid he would vanish into the system as his father had, or worse, lose Alan here. All three of them tensed as the bike rounded the corner, and Alan started forward as its wavering circuits cut out and it derezzed before their eyes down the street, sending a program skidding towards them on hands and knees before lying motionless where he'd stopped. Without pause, Tron sprinted over to the program at the inhuman speeds he seemed to prefer. Kaps seemed much smaller crumpled on the ground, and he and Alan ran after Tron, a pang of concern surprising him, and he remembers another program laying helpless, hand outstretched for his baton- he forces himself to think of something else, anything else.

Kneeling, Tron checked for the program equivalent of a pulse the same way Kaps had done to him not an hour ago, before looking up at Sam and Alan.

"He crashed. Needs repairs. Glancing disk blow at short range coupled with a sudden power drain, probably from his bike." The purring seemed to grow more pronounced when Tron gave his analysis. He helps the program lift the unconscious search engine, slinging one of his arms over his shoulder.

"In here." Alan is up ahead, gesturing into a (stable) building that appeared to be unoccupied, like most of the area. Once inside, it isn't too hard to realize that this was another, smaller, apartment complex. An unlocked door leads them to a Spartan living area, with a low pallet in the corner for a bed. Trying to be gentle as to not further damage the program, Sam and Tron laid Kaps down on his stomach. His cloak covered his disk lock, and they worked to tug it off, revealing Games armor over a whip-thing and wiry frame. Sam was surprised; the only programs he'd seen with armor were actual contestants in the Games. For the first time he got a good look at the program- he was covered in small pixilated cuts and nicks from unrepaired past fights and escapes. Sam sucked in his breath when he saw the damage. It ran from the base of the program's neck down in a slashing motion to the side of his disk lock, obviously a poorly executed attack from behind. Had Gem done this? The mysterious program seemed capable of any and all treachery. Flashes of light seemed to crackle around the edges of the cut. _That can't be good. _

"I'm not sure if Kevin wrote him or if he brought him over from another system entirely, but I know the system's code language, so hopefully this won't take too long," Alan wasn't as much pointing out some vital insight as thinking out loud, eying the damaged program. Sam nodded, unsure of what he could do to help. Whatever had happened to the search engine out there, he couldn't shake the feeling that it was of vital importance to the survival of the system.

Alan-1 gingerly disconnected the disk to begin repairs, and the motion seemed to rouse Kaps. His systems had gone into standby to prevent further damage, but the program had heightened self-preservation protocols that brought him back online when his disk was removed. Tron had noticed the protocol, among other similar functions, when he had scanned the program, but he had no idea why a search engine was so equipped for defensive survival. He groaned and tried to sit up, and Tron put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"You're not in danger; Alan-1 is repairing your code. You made it. Try to stay still, you'll just make it worse"- Kaps' eyes were glassy but focusing, and he was shaking his head, obviously terrified of something. _Afraid of what? _He froze at the program's stammering words, Kaps' eyes searching for his through the damaged helmet.

"Rinzler- no, please- just a Basic-please don't-" Kaps lurches back against the wall behind him, shaking all over, hand fumbling for his missing disk. He's not processing right, I'm not Rinzler, he told himself, but all he could hear was Kaps pleading for his life like a thousand programs had unsuccessfully before.

"I am not Rinzler, and you're going to be fine." He forced his voice to be stronger and more confident than he really is despite the pain it caused, the speech loop putting a painful growl on each syllable as he tried to calm down the trembling program. Sam shook his shoulder, trying to get his attention.

"Back off, you're scaring him!" The User commanded, and he wants to simply comply as he always does. But he can't back off. How can he ever truly stop being Rinzler as long as the programs he protects see Rinzler in his place? He knows there is only one way to prove to himself and the Grid who he is. Steeling himself, he derezzes his half-shattered helmet once and for all. The pieces fell away in shining shards, ripping his sanctuary from him.

He recoiled from the flood of unfiltered data- _too bright, too loud- _temporarily overwhelmed. When he finally uncovered his eyes, parting his fingers to see, he registered Kaps blearily staring at him, eyes darting across his face in the too-fast way that search engines took in detail.

"…Tron?" And then he was gone again, systems overtaxed beyond functioning and demanding reprieve, slumped against the wall.

Alan stared in shock as the digital glass shell around the security program's face shattered, the damaged code unable to retract. His alarm faded somewhat as he realized that Tron wasn't derezzing; the program had done this intentionally. With an involuntary hiss, the security program's hands flew up to cover his eyes, recoiling from the dim light of the room. From where he was sitting, he couldn't see his program's now-exposed face, but Sam was staring as if he had seen a ghost.

"…Tron?" Kaps managed to get out a single word before his eyes rolled back in his head and his circuits dimmed, sinking down on to the pallet again.

The program flinched slightly at the sound of his name, but seemed to relax minutely. For a moment there was tense silence, the quiet purring he hadn't been able to identify in Tron's code evident in the stillness. Sam appeared to be trying to take in Tron's face still, and Alan slowly walked over to where his program and his godson were knelt by Kaps. At the sound of his footsteps, Tron sunk down lower to the ground, hands still shielding his face, as if trying to hide some deformity. _Or perhaps he forgot what it's like to be seen as an individual, rather than a faceless machine… _

Aware that the program might need space, Alan didn't even try to look at Tron; instead he quietly began repairs on Kaps' disk. The program was a basic search engine like any other from the late eighties; however, he had been upgraded several times until his code was a piecemeal display of different programmers at work, somehow still highly efficient. He felt eyes on him, and when he stole a glance up he saw that the security program was keenly watching him work, unaware that he'd been noticed. They were his eyes, but they also seemed somehow… different. He focused on the disk, worried that Kaps might begin to deteriorate. The older patches were obviously Kevin's work, but several newer features resembled the strange, similar edits he'd found in Tron's damaged code, the third programmer. Eloquently designed scripts enhanced functions necessary for survival- mostly heightened response times and evasive abilities. Though few, they might have been the reason Kaps had survived whatever adventure he'd recently been in at all.

The damaged section was delightfully easy to find compared to diagnosing corrupted code in an elderly system like this from the other side of the screen. Kevin had designed his Grid to be easily accessible from the inside, and this touch-interface hologram was a perfect example of intuitive hardware. The red-lit areas of code, the entirety of which scrolled before his eyes, were damaged, and he selected them, analyzed the errors and repaired them far faster than he could have when Kaps was written, from the other side of the screen. Within minutes, he was saving the repairs. The disk was still saving when Tron broke the silence, his speech clearer than ever.

"Something is not as it should be about that program." Alan looked up, surprised by the comment. Tron's eyes, still visible through his fingers, refused to meet his, focused entirely on the code disk.

"What do you mean, not as it should be?" Sam asked, skeptical. He was obviously as thrown by the accusation as Alan was.

"He has access that he shouldn't- a low clearance program like him should never have been able to get into my memory files in the first place. Even after you removed the lock CLU put on my memory from the outside, he shouldn't have been able to just save a few files off of my disk." Tron sounded somewhat offended that the program had even the nerve to try. Alan recognized that tone; Kevin and Sam had mocked him too many times for it to miss the cadence of his own speech when irritated. It made sense that the databases and memory of the system security monitor would be higher clearance. It struck a chord with Alan; he'd seen one of the patches in Kaps' code that had upgraded him to confidential clearance.

"I think our friend here isn't as low clearance as you make him out to be," Alan said, bringing up the edit history on Kaps' disk again.

"Look here." Sam and Tron clustered around, staring at the glowing information recording the changes made to Kaps' code. Alan gestured to the designation tag next to the unknown edits, which was meaningless to Alan, but recognizable to Tron, who narrowed his eyes with distaste.

"Zuse."

With a tiny click that he can barely hear without the audio enhancement feed his helmet gave him, Alan-1 returned Kaps' disk to the lock on the program's back.

"Who is Zuse?" Alan-1 asks him after ensuring that Kaps' code was syncing correctly. Though he could repair a mortally wounded program in nanos, his User still knew so little of the Grid. How could one save a life as easily as rezzing a lightcycle and yet not know the name of one of the Grid's most infamous programs. Users were such a contradiction in every aspect that it was nothing short of a miracle to him that they could exist at all without spontaneously combusting.

_Rinzler stood with his head bowed behind his master, adjusting his helmet filters to minimize the pounding beat rocking the End of Line club. His entire frame ached from a long cycle championing the Games and the last thing he needed was upbeat dance music. CLU disdained the quick executions that marked each of his rounds, however, and had recently been improving upon Rinzler's code, restricting combat sequences necessary for fast kills. He was built for direct assault- analyze the threat, and neutralize it as efficiently possible. While these challenging circumstances had prolonged his fights, he had also begun to sustain minor damage with nearly all of his defensive ability disabled. _

_This irritated CLU to no end, and Rinzler wasn't sure how his master planned to rectify his warrior's latest failure. Or what it had to do with Zuse, who CLU was now talking to. Though he knew it only had a forty seven point five percent chance of concerning him, he listened, though the intrusion upon his master put a shiver of unease through him._

_"…need a champion who fights the Games like, you know, _games_, let them hope a little, work the crowd, and _then _break them!" Rinzler is confused- that is not his directive. _

_ERROR. CLU's will in all its forms is his directive. _

"Zuse was a diagnostics and repairs program. He could repair programs damaged through system errors when Flynn, CLU or myself were unavailable. His ability to modify and create was unsurpassed, and he was powerful for it. CLU restricted the energy aquifers to control the system's power supply. Programs had to fend for themselves. It's very probable that Kaps would have worked for him extensively in exchange for upgrades and energy after the coup. An affluent program like Zuse would have been able to guarantee that Kaps would survive the cycle." Sam stared hard at him, and he failed to hold the User's gaze. They both knew that he was leaving the obvious caveat about Zuse out.

_Snick-click. It's a faint, metallic noise that he has heard far too often, and it puts a wave of apprehension through him, though he shows no reaction at all, as if carved out of hard data, immobile information. CLU idly spins his conjoined disk in his hands, the motion fluid and mesmerizing to Rinzler. His identity, spinning in black and gold is never still, never idle. Neither was- _

_ERROR. _

_ He wishes he was static code, unfeeling and unmoving as he appears. The subtle anticipation of something terrible spreads through him, unexplainable and intense. Why does an upgrade fill him with such fear? His head remains slightly inclined, shoulders tensed forward. His only satisfaction is that his internal failings are invisible to those around him. Even Clu-_

_ERROR. Nothing is invisible to CLU._

"You don't sound like you like him too much." He wishes he was alone, free from duty to protect the Grid, and more immediately, having to explain one of his enemies to his User. An enemy who had derezzed far too easily. He just wanted time to recover, to learn to see and hear and talk again and sort through his tangled memories. At least talking around the code loop his speech centers were stuck in was getting easier. After all, he was built to work around damage in combat situations.

"He… aided CLU more than anyone ever knew. The rebels and ISOs trusted him, and when he switched sides he did it in the shadows. No one ever connected rebel cell or ISO shelter deresolution to him. Beyond that, he designed most of the Black Guard programming and the Rectifier functions themselves. Him and the Sirens. They also worked with my own code to an extent."

_His eyes track his disk, which glides, almost floating, from CLU's hands as he tosses it with a casual flick of the wrist to Zuse, who twirls it, grins and bows with a flourish._

_"When I'm done with your assassin over there, you'll have Disk Wars like never before!" The white-clad program promises, and CLU smiles, though there is a predatory fierceness his eyes. _

_"I'm sure I will not be disappointed." _

Sam angrily continued where Tron left off, eyes fixed on the ground.

"He sold us out, Alan! Quorra trusted him and she nearly _died_! We all nearly died! If it wasn't for that goddamned freak and his creepy henchwomen dad might've-" he broke off, overcome by emotion, and there was a strange shine to his eyes that didn't match the anger in his voice. Tron felt a pang stab him unprecedented. He hadn't felt anything like it in long time. _If it wasn't for Zuse, Flynn could have escaped._ Users not only bled crimson when wounded, they did _this _when grieving. If he remembered correctly, which was 99.8 percent of his very long runtime, Flynn had called it crying. He had never cried, and was not sure he even possessed the capacity, but he was totally sure then he couldn't because the notion that Flynn had endured so much, came _so close- _surely if programs were capable of crying he would have then.

For a moment, there was silence as the trio mourned. Sam's usual bravado and screw-you attitude hid the fact that his godson was still deeply wounded by his father's death, which after twenty years of hating his dad for vanishing, he'd had his world turned on its head here. Alan had always known that Flynn lived, somehow, but there was no way he could have ever convinced Sam of that. The intense encounter with the Grid he'd been living in had made him almost forget that at last, Kevin really was gone. His throat tightened painfully. Closure was necessary for Sam- and himself- to heal, but this was not how the story was supposed to end. Tron's half-obscured face was unreadable, a perfect mask to whatever he felt. Had the program known Flynn? Tried to kill him under CLU's power? He could only hope the program didn't blame himself for what happened.

It was, all in all, almost enough to soften his anger at his godson for what had happened at the now-derezzed apartment. But the sight of Tron fearlessly diving after Sam into the falling structure, possibly falling to his own death for Sam's irresponsibility and then struggling to stand up, haven taken the entire shock of impact for both of them, helmet laced with cracks, kept his wrathful sentiments smoldering. Whether Sam was an independent adult or not, there would have to be a consequence of some sort for that. And he needed to see if Tron really was okay. The program had seemed mostly-functional, but that had been a powerful impact. Seeing his helmet shatter into tiny bits of data had not been reassuring.

Reality kicked back in motion as Kaps' circuits flared to life and the program twitched, rebooting with less grace than Tron had, laboriously hauling himself into a sitting position. Blinking several times, he stared into space, trying to focus, before his eyes flew wide with alarm and he leapt unsteadily to his feet.

_Reboot sequence commencing. _There was pain. _Systems at full capacity in five…_ He was flying, racing through the circuits with impossible speed. _Four. _A searing brand running down his back. A disk. Whose disk? Why? _Three. _He was close, he could see the Users… but he had reached his limit. He wasn't a monitor or an admin; he wasn't made for this. His vision stretched out into a tunnel in front of him, with darkness all around. _Two._ He was totally drained, and his bike was derezzing into its baton and he was falling but he didn't recall hitting the ground. His last flicker of emotion was a terrifying one- utter failure in his directive. _One. Systems at full capacity. _He was lying propped against the wall, vision swimming. Sam, Alan, and- Rinzler- no, not Rinzler- were standing above, concerned. The code snapped into place. Ace! Light Jet! Gem! Attempted deresolution!

"That monstrous she-wolf!" A half processed but fully accurate exclamation escaped him. Vaguely he became aware he has no idea what a she-wolf is, but it seems to be the right word. All three started, clearly expecting not _that_. Tron stared down at him piercingly, storm-blue eyes sharp and alert, and it puts a shiver of unease through him. Being eyed suspiciously by a security monitor was usually a short prologue to some nature of invasive scanning and was best responded to by running away.

"Did you find Gem? Did she do this? Where is she?" _Your concern is touching. Don't get too emotional on me there_. Tron spoke with focused urgency. He had only met the program in passing before the coup, but that voice had meant for all the Basics, and ISOs, that the system was safe, protected. He barely could remember those times_. _He nodded, before elaborating on his finds.

[I tracked-] He realized there were Users present, and switched from binary to speech.

"I traced her to Epsilon and confirmed that she had just acquired a contraband light jet from a dealer there. I confronted her, asking for payment for my last query, and attempted to get her to open up on her motives, but she was really cagey, even by her standards. I planned to tail her long enough to figure it out for myself, but I made the mistake of turning my back before removing myself from easy assassination range. When I rezzed my bike and ran for it, she gave chase with the jet, but nothing can catch on that bike. She knew it gave up pretty fast." Tron didn't seem any less suspicious of him now that there was a contraband dealer involved, nodding pensively. The program was obviously not happy with Kaps' results. Kaps was more concerned with the three vials of concentrated energy in the storage file of his MIA cloak. The fuzzy headache of power drain was still clinging to circuitry. _Glitching _lightcycle!

He stood, still feeling better since rebooting. Alan was much better at repairs than Zuse, and Zuse wasn't too bad. But the charismatic program had mostly been designed to do field repairs, and the User had reworked the entire damaged area masterfull. Better than new. He was disappointed only in that he wouldn't get one of the impressive pixilated scars associated with patch repairs, he reflected, rolling his shoulders. Running a quick scan of the apartment they were apparently camped out in, he located his cloak tossed aside on the floor, keeping one audio feed on the User's conversation as he settled the familiar garment around his shoulders.

"What is her _problem? _High-functioning psychopath much? I never knew ISOs could be _evil." _Sam's voice sounded tight and harsh, like it could snap at any moment. Alan was calmer, though it sounded forced.

"We have to find out what she's trying to do. She obviously has no problem with striking in lethal intent and general destruction. Tron, what could a program try to achieve with a jet?" Tron had difficulty meeting his User's eyes for some reason, though he seemed to be trying. Kaps realized he hadn't seen Tron without his Games helmet in over two thousand cycles. A hazy image of it shattering to reveal the program behind it flitted through his processes. He tried to focus, turn back to the problem at hand. There had been an almost fervent look in the Gem's eyes. Burning. Vengeful. Like she would see her plan through not matter what the cost was.

"She has to want to get somewhere that a light cycle or runner cannot access," Tron mused out loud in response, tactician's processor at work. It hit him a moment before Kaps, Sam or Alan.

Eyes wide, he looked Alan in the eyes; and Kaps realized that one was the aged version of the other. _He _wrote_ him? _

"She's headed for the Portal." _Of course. _

"Kaps, did you have a proximity scan tracking her until she got out of range?"

"Yeah-?" But before he could finish the word, Tron was ahead of him.

"Access it now. Did she turn towards the Portal before you lost her trace?" He closed his eyes, bringing up the memory statistics. She'd made a seventy-degree turn away from him, and he overlaid her trajectory with his system map and- the jet was pointed straight for the distant portal. He nodded an affirmitave, eyes wide.

"How long have I been out? She could already have made it to the User world-" Tron held up a hand. If she is travelling at the max speed of a light jet without any _modifications-" _He gave Kaps an accusing stare- "Then we have around 20.4 microcycles until she reaches the Portal." Kaps' circuits froze. They couldn't make that.

"Wait," Sam interjected, confused. "I thought only my dad's Master Key disk could access the Portal." Tron shook his head.

"He designed the I/O tower to be able to control the Portal, which is the natural junction of the two worlds. It was there from when the system was a blank hard drive. I… never really understood it. The Master Key was for the I/O, which was destroyed in the reintegration, leaving the Portal unguarded. _Anything _could get out while it is online."

"How long do we have to get there and stop her from trying whatever it is she plans on doing?" Alan's voice is nearly indistinguishable from his program's. It took both Tron and Kaps a nano to realize Alan was probably asking for minutes, not microcycles.

Tron tilted his head, running some calculations.

"Nine minutes and thirty point five four seconds."

AN: You all were expecting an action-filled, climatic chapter, weren't you? Well, so was I, but this needed to happen first, despite the fact that this chapter did not want to happen. It went onto the screen kicking and screaming. Hopefully I managed to convey some semblance of writing here, but I have my doubts. Anything you don't like or think is missing, let me know and I'll fix it as I see fit. Sorry if it's way too monstrously long, by the way. Should I separate it into two individual chapters or cut out the flashback scenes?

Thanks to Cyberbutterfly, Kesomon, Avid Reader403, Xire and Zuzanny for reviewing chapter eleven!


	14. Across The Sea

The system had been compromised. In his weakened state since crashing as Rinzler, a danger to the Grid had developed and was now on the loose, headed for the Portal. Worse, there were Users online. What was Gem planning for the Portal? If Sam and Alan-1 became trapped here, cut off from their own world, he would know that he was truly obsolete code- he had failed once, and to do so again was unthinkable. Nine User minutes in Gridtime, with the few extra seconds slipping through their fingers.

"We can catch her." Sam spoke with such certainty that Tron couldn't keep his face clear of skepticism, an expression which Alan-1 was mirroring. He and his User and realized their identical stances at the same time, and each shifted and looked away. _Now that is going to take some getting used to. _Already the younger User had knelt and was working with the system, creating something. A shape, sleek and narrow, appeared in a hologram above him. Alan-1 joined him and within seconds a sleek craft had materialized in front of them.

It was a series of gaping intakes and compact thrusters, with short wings that ran in thin circuit trimmed triangles down the fuselage. A pair of vertical stabilizers was at an angle from the aft, compact and sharp-looking. There was no cockpit or harness; the strange craft rode more like a lightcycle, with dorsal plates connecting the flight helmet to the fuselage and low handlebars, versus joysticks, and had a clutch and gears like a lightcycle as well, from what he could see. Tron had to suppress a wince. This Flynn had even less sense in safe vehicles than his father, and an even greater disposition toward Kevin's favorite subject besides Sam, the 'motorcycle.'

Kaps meanwhile was watching the construction slack-jawed, and Tron felt the corner of his mouth attempting to twitch into a smile, but he stifled it. This was hardly a time to be easily amused. The other program shook his head, impressed, turning to Tron.

[I want one.] _Typical. The system is compromised, the User world could be at risk, and your main concern is the pretty light jet. _That was unfair, but he wasn't built to stand and watch disaster befall the Grid and it had him on edge to do so now.

He merely gave a stiff nod in reply, keeping his eyes on the hologram, gaze censorious. He had learned that most of Flynn's designs had needed some sort of editing to keep them within the realm of the practical before he would let the User save and rezz the new vehicles.

[You look like you're about to keel over.] He turned to Kaps questioningly, not understanding the search engine's meaning, and realized to his surprise that the program was holding out a vial of energy, produced from somewhere within the storage files of his cloak. The concentrated power's glow reminded him how of just how taxed he was, circuits pale and dim beyond their normal icy light. His self-repair protocols had repaired nearly all of the damage to his shoulders and back, at the cost of draining him of eighty-percent of available power.

Hesitantly he accepted the vial, pausing a moment before drinking half of it and handing it back. The instant surge of power flashed through his circuitry like simulated lightning, and he gave Kaps a small grateful smile before turning his attention back to the hologram, which Sam was about to rezz. A cursory glance at the design statistics informed him that as with Flynn, common-sense revision was necessary. Sighing to himself, he approached the Users to salvage the situation.

"No, no, no. This will never keep the rider on at these speeds- the force of a slight to moderate turn radius alone will be too great for the rider to withstand." Tron had materialized somehow right behind him, and Sam jumped, swearing. He'd gotten totally wrapped up in the jet hologram and discussing it with Alan to notice the program approach, he supposed. Alan, who was nodding in agreement with the security program.

"Good point- I hadn't considered the physics of the Grid in relation to it." His godfather easily conceded. Sam looked back and forth between them, irritated that he hadn't thought of that, before Tron continued.

"And you have a simple turret system in place here for offensive maneuvers but no armor in case of enemy engagement- I know this jet is designed to outrun, not dogfight, but with no fortifications, even a stray bit of derezzing code in an intake could cause the engine processor to crash and possibly a uncontained engine failure…" Within seconds, Alan and his nineteen-eighties doppelganger were reworking the entire design, with himself fading rapidly into the background. _Oh, that's just _typical. Maniac ISO on the loose with less than ten minutes to catch, and Alan appeared to be more concerned with making the vehicle of pursuit seatbelt-compatible.

"Do we _really _have time to get this thing street-legal?" Matching unimpressed Alan stares were his only response. A realization hit him- _two Alans. I now have to deal with- and be dealt with- by two Alans. One Alan with ninjalike abilities._

"I would prefer to survive the flight, thank you." His godfather stated firmly, and that was that. He heard Tron ask Alan in an undertone-

"What does he mean by 'street legal', when it is a flying vehicle?"

Hearing the serious, capable Tron be so confused by a simple turn of phrase brought a short bark of laughter from him. These programs seemed unable to comprehend figurative English from time to time, though Kaps had a fairly good grasp of sarcasm. Tron merely shot him a scandalized look and continued working.

Despite the fact Alan had to have wanted to perfect the jet before letting it rezz, he and Tron finished with it quickly, and stepped back from the hologram. The jet actually hadn't made the transformation from sleek predator to safe, secure plodding cow that he'd expected; and there certainly wasn't time to further inspect it.

Sam finished the design and saved the file, initializing the craft, which began to rezz bit by bit in front of them. The finished jet then folded into a baton, clattering to the ground. Sam picked it up, and after a second of hologram manipulation, it glowed in his hands and he pulled it apart into two batons, and then another, handing one to Tron and Alan.

"Right. Let's go."

Kaps had watched the entire exchange among Tron and the Users keenly, unnoticed and separate from the equation as usual, considering his next move. This would, after all, be an ideal time to back out. He wasn't sure he wanted to go chasing after Gem. Again. Considering how well that went the first time. It wasn't like he'd actually be of any real use in a dogfight situation- Two Users, and the best fighter on the Grid with them, would hardly rely on a search engine in combat. But he could help but want to actually _see _what was going to happen out there. It was just in his programming. He'd been drawn into the fate of system that until then he'd just been a small part of.

But what was the point of following the Users to the Portal if he couldn't even help them? It was certainly beyond his place in the system. _It was beyond my place to survive this long free of Rectification or the Games. I stepped outside my role then- should I now?_ Sam had turned towards him, hesitating by the door to the Grid beyond, and Kaps met his eyes, unable to answer the User's unspoken question. In that nano, he steeled his resolve. _See it through, Program._ Before the moment was gone and he was left behind, just another pointless Basic of no consequence, he forced a half-smile onto his face, attitude cavalier as ever.

"Aren't you forgetting somebody, User?"

Sam stared at Kaps, surprised. He had expected the program to be sore and wary enough from his last endeavor, coupled with his obvious lack of fighting ability, to be deterred. But the search engine expectantly held out his hand nonetheless. With a shrug, he accessed the jet program file again. _Ctrl+A. Ctrl+C. Ctrl+V. _His thoughts translated smoothly to another baton, which he tossed to Kaps, who caught it easily and stared at it, as if unable to believe Sam had created it that easily out of nothing. Unease was evident in the program's eyes, but Sam didn't have time to worry about it. He was already out into the street of the city, turning to the distant portal. He exchanged a brief glance with Tron and Alan, and then they were running.

It was terrifying as always, leaping forward into thin air, trusting a tiny simulated-metal baton to transform beneath him into a tangible shell of metal and light. The minute snap-click of the baton activating was the only thing he heard- and then he was ripped forward through the air, the jet materializing in a screaming blur around him of fuselage and turbines. Immediately his vision was flooded with engine stats and energy levels; the jet's flight helmet HUD was online and functional. He cleared the screen and effortlessly climbed to a stable altitude above the city before they left it entirely, banking and diving to familiarize himself with the feel of the controls. He realized belatedly he was laughing; the flight was so intense, so awesome- and he was in the lowest gear of the light jet still.

He glanced around himself, trying to find Tron and Alan. They were flanking him, visible as sharp daggers of light to the left and right. It was surprisingly difficult to identify one from the other; the obscuring flight helmets hid their faces, which were unnaturally similar to begin with. Alan wore User clothes and no program circuitry, but Sam had to wonder if his armor would have resembled Tron's. He didn't see Kaps, and a proximity scan revealed that the program was flying directly behind them, in his blind spot.

[Sam, when this is over I will have to have a word with you about safe vehicle design.] He started, the definition of Tron's voice as clear as if the program was standing in front of him. _I'll call the helmet comn system a success._

[Oh come on, don't tell me this isn't fun.] His tone was light, and it betrayed the frayed nerves he keenly felt.

[If your father was anything to judge by, 'fun' and near deresolution encounters are closely related.] Sam sighed, shaking his head. _How am I ever going to deal with _two _of these killjoys?_ A small wry smile played across his lips despite the circumstances.

He switched up a few gears and gunned the engines, shrieking forward. It was hard to think as fast as he was moving. The sensitivity of the design and the focus required to pilot the jet in a straight line blurred the boundary between man and machine- the digital engines became a mere extension of his will. It was unlike anything he'd ever ridden before- a mere twitch to the left or right was a wrenching turn. He might have designed it after his Ducati, but the jet was a whole new level of awesome. _Now I really _do _feel like a god. _

Tron began to pull ahead, and he matched the program's pace, shooting him a look. _Oh no you don't. _I get point.

[That is the most dangerous combat position. I cannot allow you to endanger yourself further.]

[I'm a User. I get point.]

[Yes, you are a User...] For a second, it seemed strangely like Tron was agreeing with him. But then-

[A User who dropped a building on his own head.] And the program nudged back into the lead. Before Sam could respond, however, Alan neatly swooped in between him and Tron, forcing his way to the lead and holding point.

[Honestly.] Sam was pretty sure he heard Kaps laughing somewhere behind them, and he shot Alan a reproving glance, feeling somewhat usurped, but held right flank without further protest. They flew in tense silence after that, until-

[There! I see her!]

[Where?]

[De-frag me, how is she that close already!] Tron, Alan and Kaps' voices rang through his helmet audio filters, pulling him from his light-jet reverie.

Using the HUD display to enhance his visual feed, he squinted and saw a one man jet, small and delicate, silhouetted against the beam of pure light that was the Portal. It was shrinking rapidly, and he pushed the jet to top speed, closing in fast on the slower aircraft. Despite the speed nearly tearing him from his seat, hands clenched on the handlebars, he felt as if moving in slow motion. _Too little. Too late. _No, no, this couldn't be happening- not again- he was never fast enough, or smart enough-

[We're not going to make that. She's too close-] He cut off even as the words tore from his throat, panicking.

[_We _might not be able to.] Tron's words came through gritted teeth and Sam only had a moment to wonder at their meaning.

He always learned from his enemies. The ability to the opposition was the mark of a good security monitor. He'd gained sleights, dodges and technique from every program he'd ever fought. Sark's failings had taught him to never overestimate himself, or to let himself become a program's pawn. There was some irony in that, actually. Combating and infiltrating the MCP's vast fleets of coordinated tanks, troops, carriers and recognizers had taught him to strategize and process ahead of the game- not only to the obvious, but to plan for ever remotely possible outcome. He had not been rezzed a master tactician, after all.

The swarms of gridbugs that had been common in the early days of the new system had forced him not only to fight unpredictable enemies, but to learn how to fight unpredictably. Zuse's wiles left him adept at reading past a program's pretenses to their true motivation. CLU had proven to him that not even the Users could be relied on to save the system, or a program, or their own friends. The only one he could trust in the end was himself.

And Rinzler had taught him that he could not trust himself, that he could and had betrayed everything that made him who he was. But he had also taught him to fight without limit- to put everything he had, everything he was, into victory, with no precaution. When he fought like that, he was the most dangerous, because to lose was to lose everything. Before, he had been reserved, calculated, exact, and he would stay that way as long as he could. It was an impossible way to fight, and any lesser program would have derezzed almost instantly. But he was Tron, and he would remember what Rinzler taught him.

Sam had used the same power system for the jet his father had, more or less. The engine protocol drew processing power from the system power supply itself; it had a maximum capacity for power intake from the Grid- to draw in any more could interrupt the processing of the system itself. He remembered the parasite protocol from Kaps' bike that allowed it to draw energy directly from the rider. As a security program; he had admin access. In theory, though he did not have reprogramming protocols like CLU, this could work.

_Access ljet3-c3 source code?_

_Confirm._

_Processing power rootsource: Gridpowersupply1_

_Change power rootsource to: ljet3-c3 rider?_

_Confirm change._

_Change saved._

[We're not going to make that. She's too close-] Sam voice was tight and harsh, and his analysis accurate.

With a sickening feeling of being latched onto, the jet began to draw power off of him and he realized, calculating rapidly, that he had to initiate the power boost now or be unable to intercept Gem. Bracing himself, he entered the command.

_Current processing power transfer rate: 10 percent._

_Increase transfer rate by 80 percent?_

_Confirm._

[_We _might not be able to.]

With a deafening mechanical roar the supercharged engines surged beneath him, and he could feel bytes of his own power being ripped into the jet, and he pushed the machine and himself farther, warnings flashing across his vision. He didn't need more than a handful of nanos, which was all the overheating prototype jet could give him.

So close. No reserves untapped. Fight with everything, lose with everything.

His visual feeds were reduced to streaky blurs and he barely clung to the handlebars. Sam, Alan-1 and Kaps were far in the distance behind him and the Portal was a blinding brand flying forward to meet him.

Gem was suspended within it, seeming to derezz bit by bit, disk above her outstretched arms. Her face was a mask of fierce determination, and she was burningly bright haloed by the Portal

. Nanos before impact, he disengaged the damaged jet, and it derezzed into its baton, sending him hurtling into the light. Time seemed to slow impossibly as her eyes widened in shock. He drew his own disk and felt it tugged from his grasp, rising upwards to join the ISO's.

They were suspended between two worlds, eyes locked and faces nanometers from each other.

And then there was nothing but light.

AN: Whee, some action! This was intense and fun to write, and I hope it's equally fun to read. So here's some needed plot development, and a little bit of chase-scene action too. Constructive criticism is totally welcome; there's always room for improvement.

Thanks to Cyberbutterfly, Sonata IX, Zuzanny, Xire and 3LW00D for the awesome reviewing! And Kaps would like everyone who told me not to kill him off after chapter eleven that you have his full gratitude.


	15. Into the Light

One moment they'd been flying in formation, and the next Tron has vanished in a blur of light, his light jet leaving only an echo of a metallic scream behind.

[What the hell!] Sam's voice was half protest and half question.

[How the hell!] Kaps echoed, equally eloquent.

Alan had no idea. Tron had exceeded the top speed of the jet by far, and vanished with Gem into the beam of light. He tightened his hands around the handlebars, taking a deep breath. Whatever happened on the other side was up to Tron, and he could do nothing but keep flying for the Portal.

[He should be able to keep Gem busy until we get there,] he said, trying to keep himself calm as much as Sam or Kaps, who had fallen in to fill Tron's position, and they continued in tense silence, the Portal drawing nearer painfully slowly.

This was somehow familiar, he thought. _Above-capacity acceleration. Short-term. _The circuits on the jet had flashed with blinding intensity as it accelerated, while Tron had appeared drained of light.

[Kaps, doesn't you're bike draw energy from the rider to reach otherwise unattainable speed?]

[Yeah, why- oh! That's very clever of him.]

[Do you think that sort of power drain is survivable?] Jet engines were far more power hungry than a lightcycle.

[Most likely, but I'm not an actuary. Tron is a tough program. Might pass out for it, but should be alright. I don't know about the Portal though. No program's ever been transferred to the other side. Users know what it did to Gem, though. ISOs are the definition of 'confounding variable.']

* * *

><p>The only author Quorra liked more than Jules Vern was Isaac Asimov. His writings of 'robots'- which as far as Quorra could tell, were basically equivalent to programs who were built to function in the User world, with no laser transfer.<p>

She was in the midst of chewing through the Robot series, having finished Foundation shortly after Sam and Alan had left. Sam had shook his head in wonder at her data processing rate- he could only process written data like _I, Robot _over a period of a week, usually. This had as much to do with interest level as capability. He once fell asleep as she tried to explain the concept of the positronic brain to him. _No taste in literature at _all.

A faint electronic hum, unmistakably the laser, pulled her from Sam's Kindle (she was saving up for one), with a start. It hadn't been long at all- why were they were back already? Had something gone wrong? A shiver ran through her, imagining CLU and Rinzler hunting her into the User world, impossible as that was.

That fear only began to intensify as a figure clearly not Sam or Alan formed, the laser tracing female contours and bright white Siren armor into existence. Confusion filled her now. How and why had a Siren come through the Portal?

Fully transferred, the program stood looking around for a heartbeat until she noticed Quorra. They locked eyes, frozen. Quorra had the eerie feeling that she knew this Siren, should fear her-

And then a second form began to materialize- a lithe and lethal silhouette that sent stabs of wild fear through her.

The Siren's eyes widened.

"Shut off the Portal _now_!" She hissed, hand reaching for her disk, which Quorra knew was now an inert circular blade, equally lethal in the real world. The dark shape was halfway formed, appearing frozen midleap above the ground, as if he had leapt into the Portal.

The white-clad program shook Quorra from her paralysis, eyes flashing with fury and desperation, face haunted.

"It's _Rinzler_! Can't you _stop it?_" Her worst fear had returned, and it was too late to stop the laser. Now very much in the User world, the enforcer had fallen to his knees, apparently exhausted. Her breath caught in her throat as he looked up and his eyes met hers, fierce storm blue. A tempest was raging behind those eyes, pain and sadness flashing like lightning. Tron's eyes had been edged with determination and coolly calculating, but never so violent. Whoever this is, he could not have been the program she once knew.

"…Tron?" Her voice is small and weak, but he hears her, this time._ Could it really be him?_

_He stalks through the ruins, disks smoldering in his hands. _So much pain, so much darkness… _She is with her kind, dying with them. Everything the ISOs ever where is here in the crumpled corpse of the colony towers, disintegrating. Around her soft cries of derezzing ISOs rise up towards an uncaring sky. _I'm dying. Not derezzing. I'm _dying. _

_His footfalls move closer, walking across the shards of code making up the derezzed and those still clinging to existence. _

_She looks up, trying to see his face. Her vision is flickering, colors shifting around her. One minute, he is sick-evil-burning-orange, the next her vision shudders and he's trusted-safe-protector-Tron-white and she feels the damage from the slash across her back begin to spread. Soon she will be one with the inert pieces of data that were once her home, her friends and her family. _

_His stride is easy and even, as he walks past her, carefully measured. _Perfect. _The word is like a poison in her code. She realizes he cannot see her from where she lies among the refuse._

_Quorra remembers him teaching her to fight with some of the other young ISOs._

_Relentlessly fighting for the safety of the system. _

_Fearlessly leaping to the aid of the ISOs._

_Telling them stories of the old Encom system. _

_She's alone and dying, and by instinct she calls out for the program who said he'd always protect them. It's too late for any program to save her- only a User could now- she just wants someone to be with her as she dies. Her voice is small and broken._

"…_Tron?" His steps falter, stop, and there is silence, save for her ragged breathing. But only for a moment. His steps resume, fading away as Rinzler prowls through the wreckage. _

"Quorra- listen to me- that ISO is dangerous- stand back, _please_." He was on his feet now, voice with a strange catch to it but he had the same authority, same strength, that she remembered and missed so much. _ISO? That's an ISO? _Impossible hope filled her. _I'm not alone after all. _She did not move. How could she step away and endanger one of her only remaining kin? There was something in the way Tron moved, something predatory, something very Rinzler, and it scared her. She tried to think- has to think-who was the white-armored program next to her? Where has she seen her?

It clicked.

The End of Line club. She is tearing through Guards, fighting for her life and the Son of Flynn, her last hope, as well. Zuse is a traitor to her race, and Sam is paying now for her naivety. CLU's forces swarm the club, and she fights as her old ally mocks her, his face twisted into that of a cruel cynic. Standing behind him, blending into the background, dark eyes gleaming with malice- _Gem._

It's too late get out of his way and let him deal with the traitor. Quorra realized with a sickening feeling that her own failings could once again turn deadly to those she cared about- did she really still care if Tron lived or derezzed, after everything that had happened?

In a bright blur, using her as a shield, Gem threw her disk, a lethal flash aimed at Tron, point-blank. A small scream flew from Quorra's lips like a startled bird.

With inhuman speed he ducked and leapt towards them, and the disk stuck embedded in the wall behind him. Suddenly he was right in front of her and her hand flew up to where her own disk should've been in a deeply ingrained instinct. Moving too fast for her eyes to follow, he pushed her away and grabbed the Siren- ISO?- by the wrists, to which she tried to kick out of his grasp, giving a faint cry of fear, though her face remained unrepentant and determined.

"_Why did you come here." _His voice is a low growl, putting shivers through her. Tron had never sounded quite like that. Gem flinched but the cold light in her eyes never wavered, remaining silent.

"You have endangered the Grid as a whole and individually attacked programs. I am well within my bounds to derezz you right here. Give me a reason not to." He pressed her, and his words carried the reality of his threat. To Quorra's shock, a bitter smile turned the corners of the Siren's mouth.

"I guess genocide is within those _bounds, _too, Rinzler." Muscles worked in his jaw, and she saw a shudder go through him at the mention of the name. He gave no other reaction, and his face set into hard, cold lines, and some of the Siren/ISO's attitude faded away, replaced by true fear.

* * *

><p>If she'd just had a few more precious nanos to win over Quorra, it could've worked. Hatred for Tron surged through her like a virus. The program had failed her and the ISOs over and over, and nothing seemed to get rid of him. And as if everything he'd ever done to hurt her just wasn't enough, here he was again.<p>

His hands were vices on her wrists, and his eyes betrayed no emotion now, only a deadly determination. She tried to think- where was the Grid accessed from the User world, anyway? Her eyes followed a cord from the Portal (which was far less ornate or elegant than she'd expected, merely a dusty piece of machinery) to a small, boxy device with a screen lit with lines of code and a small, basic keyboard. Was _that _her world? Tron and Quorra would never let her near it- and she needed time to wipe the system clean. But a single disk blow could easily destroy the Grid from this side of the Portal. A pang went through her- the thought of destroying her home entirely, being trapped in this alien world forever, was terrible.

But the system was broken beyond repair. Maybe it wasn't even her home anymore. And she was the only one who could set it free from its corruption. The Basics were already doomed- doomed to a narrow and pointless existence as cogs in a machine. The memory of Kaps coming back to Zuse with information time after time- often barely able to stand for damage and exhaustion, yet unable to turn back from his only purpose, a slave to his programming, flitted through her mind. Once, she'd admired programs in their driven, purposeful lives, but now she only thought of the way Basics rendered obsolete lost their will to live, their identities, their vitality, until they surrendered to Rectification out of despair. There was nothing to be done for them.

And the Users. Fools all of them, refusing to see the suffering they inflicted. A cruel twist of fate had graced them with the power of creation and with it untold destruction. Let them die in the world they created. They were no gods to her.

But first she had to get rid of Tron. He was far superior to her in combat, the most lethal fighter the Grid had ever seen, perhaps- but she knew better than most just how weak and scarred he was, how vulnerable if attacked from the right angle.

"How could you do it, Tron?" She asked, weaving some anguish into her words. _That's right. I'm just a helpless and scared ISO you're terrorizing._

* * *

><p>"You said you would always protect us." Her voice was pained and fragile now, but her words still stabbed him cruelly. It took effort, but he remained composed. Gem was a hazard, and he would not forget what she was capable of. The way she refused to tell him what she wanted here was a serious warning sign also- she had a plan, and dangerous one, most likely. Her eyes kept darting to look at something over his shoulder, and if he knew what it was he would probably be able to analyze her motives- but taking his eyes off her was a risk in itself. She'd struck before with lethal intent as soon as Kaps had turned his back.<p>

"Do not play the helpless victim. It suits you poorly." Her eyes narrowed with helpless frustration and desperation, and she pulled against him, even though she knew how futile it was.

"_You killed my sisters! _How can you pretend you're anything you used to be, Rinzler! Tron is dead. This isn't your system to protect! Why can't you just _derezz already!"_ Every syllable was a searing brand, for there was sickening truth in some of what she said.

There was no deception in her words now, no hidden intent, only a very genuine storm of old pain and were tears streaming down her face, a User symptom of intense emotion. He wanted to react with righteous anger, tell her she was glitched and confused, twisted, but he couldn't fully believe that himself. He never got a chance to say anything at all.A sound, mechanical and strange, wove through the air, the same humming that the Portal had made rezzing him into the User world, and he turned to the Portal on instinct- a glimpse of Sam forming in lines of light flashed before his eyes- before realizing his error, but it was too late.

Gem's foot caught him high in the ribs, and he gasped in surprise and pain, for this was not the type of pain he was used to, rather a stabbing, intense protest of flesh and bone that made drawing every breath punishing. Though it seemed unlikely, he had to wonder if this was some sort of mortal injury. Before he could even process it he had Gem pinned to the ground, left arm coiled back with disk in hand for the kill in pure reflex.

Her eyes were wide with terror and her breathing fast and shallow. His disk was no longer simmering with energy, but it retained its razor edge and lethal potential. It cut into his own gloved hand, nearly nicking him. She was a victim, like so many before, about to be shattered into inert data for the crime of imperfection- _NO. _That was not why he held her down, not now and not ever again.

"Tron! Don't!" Quorra, her voice high-pitched with fear, rang through the chaos. He had almost forgotten she was there, having desperately pushed her aside before Gem- or himself, he realized- could harm her. Gem's eyes pleaded with him, brimming with tears. Tron forced himself to remain motionless, to think instead of blindly reacting. He just needed to hold her until the Users could intervene, determine her fate. Gem's voice was barely audible, hanging between them with the weight of the world.

"Do it, Rinzler. Purge the system." His hand tightened around his disk, too much, and he flinched imperceptibly as it bit into his hand. His is not, he will not-

"Whoa, whoa, _easy, _man!" Sam, now fully materialized, pulled him off of Gem, and the Siren scrambled up and bolted for the door. _  
><em>

* * *

><p>The first thing he heard was Quorra's voice- terrified and frantic.<p>

"Tron! Don't!" _Oh God, if that psychopath _hurts her- sickening dread shot through him as he stood immobile, still half in the Grid and unable to save Quorra. The first thing he saw as the white light cleared from his vision was Tron poised to kill Gem, not his friend, disk shining with a cruel metallic gleam. The enforcer's eyes flashed upwards, met Sam's, seeking a command to carry out, and he had to repress as shudder. What had struck Sam the most from the first time he'd seen the program's face was the subtle ways he was different from Alan, even a much younger Alan. His face was set into sharper contours, with features that were just slightly harsher than his godfather's. His eyes were darker, and the color more intense. Instead of being Alan's mirror image, Tron was more like a twisted copy, and it still unnerved him.

"Whoa, whoa," He protested, brain still scrambling to process what was happening. Hastily he pulled the security program away from the renegade ISO.

"_Easy, _man!"

"Sam, wait, I wasn't-" The program didn't even have a chance to finish before Gem had shot up and out the door, Quorra in pursuit.

"Sam, Tron, what just happened?" Both User and program started violently, with various profanities from both. In the chaos, neither had noticed Alan come through the Portal. The first to recover, Tron reported with mechanical accuracy.

"I apprehended Gem and had her secured until-" he gave Sam a reproachful look- "User Flynn pulled me away from her for unexplained reasons."

Sam gritted his teeth under the disapproving vibes radiating from Alan and his creation. Tron had a way of wording things that invariably made him seem like some bumbling idiot who just happened to stumble in and ruin everything.

"She is unarmed but desperate towards an unclear goal, at large in this area. Quorra might have caught her by now. I'll go and find out what happened to them." With that Tron left them, striding up the stairs, though his foot caught on one and he stumbled, before continuing on. Alan shook his head, and spoke in an undertone to Sam to avoid the program's keen ears.

"If that power drain was as bad as Kaps said, Tron hasn't realized it yet, even if it's catching up to him. Adrenaline, probably." Sam wasn't sure. As they started up the stairs after Tron, he whispered back to Alan-

"Nah, he's just really, really stubborn. I wonder where he got _that." _The two men gave each a weary grin, simply glad to have returned from the Grid unscathed. _This isn't over yet, though, _Sam told himself. _There's too much left to be done still._

AN: Whee! Climatic action! This was a pain to write and a pain to edit, but it was a good exercising-for-an-hour type of pain, not a just-got-stepped-by-a-horse-with-metal-on-it's-feet type of pain. That was chapter nine, I think. Anyway, I hope it wasn't painful to read. Anyway, I've still got a few chapters to go, so bear with me just a little longer as I tie everything up.

Reviews fueled the late-night writing marathons that brought this to you today, so applause for Zuzanny, 3LW00D, Cyberbutterfly, ScribeOfRED, SonataIX, and Xire for taking the time to give the best gift an author can get.


	16. Shattered Disguise

A blue-green flash of light circled the Portal uncertainly, like a moth around a flame. Kaps was alone by the gateway to the other world, and he was having his doubts. _Users know what I'll be like on the other side. Actually, they don't, or I wouldn't be so concerned. _

He angled his jet for another pass, trying to think. Gem could be waiting, poised with a disk energized for the kill on the User side of the Portal. _Of course, if that was the case, she would've had to go through Tron, Sam, and Alan before me. That's why I was all 'Oh, Users first!' _He clenched his hands nervously around the jet's handlebars, shooting a glance back at the city's faint lights so far away. _Still not too late to just forget about this and go raid that energy cache Gem has stored in Gamma…_

The circuits of TRON city had always been so wonderfully bright, teeming with data to explore, mysteries and miracles beyond what a search engine could ever dream of. Newly rezzed into the system, it had left him awestruck when he first saw it. The faraway metropolis seemed dull and colorless now, paled by the pure, searing radiance of the Portal beam. There was nothing for him there anymore. He closed his eyes, shakily drawing a deep breath. _Stop kidding yourself and just do what you came to do._

In a single wrenching moment, he derezzed his jet and snatched his disk from his back. The split-nano he spent plummeting through the sky was the longest of his entire runtime. He held the disk above his head as he had seen done, unsure if this was the right thing to do, before it tugged out of his grasp, like a desperate prayer rising to the heavens. Then it was over.

There was nothing but white light, searing his circuitry and ripping through him, scattering him into a thousand bytes of data.

And then, there were shapes, sounds- a humming somewhere near him, a floor beneath his feet, thank the Users he was no longer falling. The machine shut off, and he tentatively looked around as his vision focused. He was in a gloomy, derelict room devoid of the grandeur he'd expected. The Portal itself was a strange, clunky device that was connected to the wall by a long cord. Another cable led to an unceremonious boxy little thing with a basic keyboard, some sort of small touchpad, and a screen covered in scrolling lines of code. His eyes flew across the data, absorbing it near-instantly. It only took a handful of micros for him to realize-

This was the Grid.

He couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed- was his entire world really this small and insignificant? He ran his fingers across the worn keys, realizing that this was the medium that Flynn had sent him queries through from the other side, that which created programs from nothing; that could have deleted CLU instantly. Reluctantly he turned from the Grid to face the emptiness around him. Where were Sam, Alan and Tron? _Thanks for waiting…_

With methodical accuracy and inhuman speed he began to commit every surface of the room to memory out of habit- from every book on the worn shelves to the maps and faded pictures pinned to some sort of board- and his heart nearly stopped when he saw the disk embedded in the far wall. Cautiously he approached the only sign of struggle, as if it might fly out of the wall for his neck at any second. It wasn't energized, so without further hesitation he pulled it from where it was stuck to further examine it.

Sharp pain bit into his hand, and the disk clattered to the ground as he yelped in surprise. _What the hell was that? _Looking down at the injury, he saw that there were lacerations on his fingers and palm, and they were _leaking something. _He felt instantly sick at the sight, almost sinking to the ground as his knees went weak. A dark crimson liquid welled up and ran down his hand in sticky trails, and he averted his eyes, shuddering. _Blood. Like Users. This can't be happening…_

Once he recovered from his shock, praying to nothing in particular that the bleeding would abate soon, he tried to put the cuts out of his mind and continue to investigate the apparently razor edged disk. It was silver and white, which made his blood even starker against the pale metal. _Gem. _Somehow that wasn't surprising.

Newfound urgency surged through him. _Where _are_ they? _The room had only one exit, and he sprinted up the stairs, thinking only of the bloodstained disk and what it could have done to his allies, the closest thing he had left to friends.

* * *

><p>She'd found herself racing up a dark flight of stairs, fueled by terror. Tron would have killed her if Sam had let him, she was certain. Probably still would. There was nowhere to hide, no weapon to defend her life with. Her foot caught on a step and she fell into the stairs in front of her, but she threw herself up and kept running. Despair clawed her. <em>Now what? I'm an alien in this world; it has no place for me. I can never go home. I have no home.<em> The stairs ended in an open space- a large dusty room with rows of shrouded machines of an unknown function. It was half cleaned, as if someone was trying to tidy it up but had lost interest.

She had no idea where to go, what to do. Before she could move,light, quick feet sounded up the stairs behind her, and a gentle hand grabbed her shoulder. She spun around to stare into Quorra's eyes, not Tron's, and in that moment she asked the last thing countless ISOs had asked before their deresolutions, a simple desperate plea that had been denied countless times.

"_Help_ _me."_ There was confusion, anger and fear in her only remaining kin's eyes, an uncertain combination that wilted much of Gem's hope.

"Help you do what, Gem?" You betrayed the Users- they were there to help us! Because of you and Zuse, Flynn _died. _You can't just find a backup of a User to rerezz, Gem. He's gone." Reflexively she spat back-

"He ran away! Hid and left us all to derezz! _He _betrayed _us!_"

"Flynn fought in every way he could! He tried, Gem! CLU was too strong-" Gem cut her off.

"Too strong for the _Creator?" _She didn't hide her derision. How could any program become more powerful than Kevin Flynn, the unstoppable, the enigma?

"_You killed him!" _The young ISO had tears in her eyes and the familiar, hopeless agony in her voice as so impassioned that Gem wondered, despite her convictions, if she'd been like Rinzler was to her and her sisters. She had destroyed Quorra's only friend and family, leaving her alone in a cruel world. _Zuse and I didn't kill Flynn. CLU did, _She told herself.A treacherous thought stabbed through her nonetheless. _I only doomed him to die._

She can't meet Quorra's eyes._ I'm no better than Rinzler. _

_No._

_Rinzler was forced to become what he was._

_I _let_ myself be twisted into a killer. _These thoughts are foreign to her. Where did this doubt come from, this confusion?

"I wanted to free the Grid from corruption," she whispered.

"But I wonder… if I was the one who was corrupted." Her words hurt, softly as she said them. Defeat weighed upon her. Not only was she cornered and beat, she wondered if perhaps her fate was not a cruel twist of misfortune but a punishment. A penalty she had deserved from the moment she turned her back on the Users, the ISO race, and everything she had once believed in.

A flicker of movement behind Quorra alerted her of the dark form appearing from the stairwell hidden behind the ancient machine- a strong silhouette that she knew as well as any program. _Tron?_

But there was no deadly intent, no drawn disk, and the stooped, tense posture was gone. This was another, the User, Tron's strange doppelganger, and she wondered if Tron was the least dangerous of the two.

* * *

><p>A deep fatigue unlike anything he'd ever felt had sunk into him following his resolution into the User world, dulling his reflexes and slowing his thoughts. The chaos and violence of his first moments on this side of the Portal had kept him from noticing it, but now he could feel it dragging against him. <em>It's nothing. I'm just power-drained. <em>Stairs should not have been this tiring, and he felt as if he was barely slogging up them, but he had still nearly caught up to the ISOs at the top. He considered charging up after them into a confrontation, but Gem had nothing to lose now and if he spooked her she could hurt Quorra.

He hung back and listened keenly to their exchange from the shadows- to Quorra confirming that he had failed in his duty and CLU had destroyed Flynn- that Gem had planned to somehow cleanse the system herself, from the outside- and that she still blamed Flynn, with justification, for the Purge. The tragedy of the two last ISOs became freshly apparent to him- lost, alone, and desperate. Flynn and Sam had been able to afford some protection to Quorra, but Gem had witnessed the entire destruction of her race, and the ensuing horror, from the epicenter of the devastation, assimilated into the machine of perfection.

He had expected hostility, treachery, pleading, and perhaps direct violence, but not the fragile weakness in Gem's voice, the directionless anger and grief Quorra projected. Footfalls rising from the stairwell alerted him to the presence of the Users following him, and he hastily gestured for them to remain quite, finger pressed to his lips in a signal Flynn had taught him for silence. Alan-1 and Sam followed his lead, remaining out of sight of the ISOs. Gem's quiet voice hung in the air.

"Now I wonder… if I was the one who was corrupted." _Or do you simply seek to gain sympathy to protect yourself?_ He was still trying to ascertain her Gem's true motive when, to his surprise, Alan-1 stepped forward, revealing himself to the renegade ISO. He bit back a protest as Alan-1's voice, gentler and older than his, echoed through the strange room.

"Perhaps you were corrupted," He began; and Tron and Sam both leaned forward minutely, even as Gem tensed and backed up-

"So do you want to heal, or just cause more damage?" Part of him still screamed that she was a threat to be eliminated, remembering the way she had interrogated him brutally, boot heel ground into his injured chest. He thought of Kaps- _where_ _i_s _he_, _anyway?- _ attacked from behind, the Users sold out and nearly killed- but Rinzler was worse. _He _was worse. Gem had never looked into the eyes of an innocent, seen the confusion and fear of one never touched by violence, and put a disk through them, watched them fall dying. If Alan-1 had seen fit to forgive him, call him Tron again, this sadistic program wasn't beyond redemption either. He would have to trust his User, and he hadn't trusted anyone in so long he had to wonder if he still could.

Gem's eyes narrowed with confusion, clearly having expected Tron and the twin disks of vengeance to come bearing down upon her, not Alan-1 with his kind eyes and gentle words. Quorra meanwhile had lost the fierce edge that possessed her moments ago, looking at the User with hope and an eagerness to trust. Despite her cunning and bravery in battle, he was reminded of just how young the ISO really was, a young, second generation girl not directly formed from the Sea. She had seen terror and genocide but her wide-eyed innocence still endured.

"We're going to fix the Grid, I promise." She would not meet Alan-1's eyes, or couldn't. Tron remembered the instinct; when he'd come back online to the presence of his User, processes still scrambled between Rinzler and Tron, his first coherent thought had been to run, hide what he had become. Was the ISO, impossible as it seemed, feeling the same things?

"Kevin Flynn… promised many things also," she whispered, and Tron winced. Near him, Sam tensed, and he put a hand out, signaling to the young User to remain silent. Sam shot him a look, but didn't break the fragile trust Alan-1 was 'building with the Siren. He also wanted to defend Flynn- he had tried so hard, but he was only one User, one imperfect being. One imperfect being who had ignored Tron's warnings, both as a security program and his friend, he reflected, with sorrow instead of anger. If only he had been more forceful with Flynn, told him that something had to change… _No point speculating over the past when the future is yet so uncertain._ No other program had understood how like them their Creator was- were unable to see his failure, his weakness, as anything mere mortality. Flynn was a god to them, and his destruction was no less than betrayal.

Alan-1 didn't seem to have anything to say to that at first, sighing heavily.

"He did. And as I understand, he died trying to fulfill those promises. A User's most precious thing to give is their life, Gem. Please understand that." The way she seemed to give inside, the desire to lash out drained away, told Tron that she had began to understand.

* * *

><p>He was glad Alan had stepped forward before he did- he'd wanted to give the treacherous ISO an honest piece of his mind, which would have ended most likely in violent engagement. His godfather had managed to talk Gem down from murderous to what she really was- a lost and lonely survivor with nothing left. Meanwhile he and Tron lurked in the shadows, as their very presence was inflammatory to Gem, who while unarmed was still dangerous.<p>

He could barely compare the very human-looking ISO with eyes shining with tears held back to the composed, icy creature who had admittedly drawn his attention that first fateful voyage to the Grid. She had been so detached and uncaring, and that, he thought, was the genius of her disguise. Untouchable, unrelatable, she'd isolated herself from the system she hid in on a subtle level. No program or User had figured her out, and the price of containing year after year of suffering and loss was evident in her haunted face and tired form.

"What now?" She asked, and Sam had to wonder as well. _Alan always has a plan. _

"What do you want to do?"

"Since when has that ever mattered?" There was some bite in Gem's voice again. _Still the same ISO we all know and love._

"Since now," Alan insisted, and her eyes narrowed at him.

"The game's changed, Gem. No one is left to try and hurt you."

"I don't want to go back!"

"Then don't. We'll figure something out." _Wait, what? Alan had better have a really good plan._

Suddenly struck by the sensation of being watched, he turned and found himself face to face with Kaps. He started in surprise, hissing out an expletive. _Someone took their sweet time! How long has he been there? _

"Sam, something's wrong with"- he cut the program off, desperatly gesturing for silence, but it was too late.

Gem stalked over to the hidden door behind the half-moved TRON game, revealing the programs and User huddled behind it._  
><em>

* * *

><p>Kaps' voice had shattered the fragile trust of the moment, sending Gem storming over to where Sam, Tron, and the loudmouthed program stood concealed. <em>Think fast, Alan, before someone gets killed. <em>Rushing over with Quorra, he tried to take in all that was happening at once- Gem was pointing at Tron, looking betrayed, livid and slightly terrifying, Sam and Kaps had flattened themselves against the other side of the stairwell, the latter clutching a bleeding hand- _wonderful- _and all five of them stared straight at him, waiting for him to decree some solve-all resolution.

"_No one's left to hurt me, _you say," she hissed, stabbing a finger at Tron, who tensed but kept his face devoid of any emotion.

"He was corrupted and controlled," he heard himself reflexively defending his program, still struggling to process the mess unfolding in front of him. Gathering his thoughts, he looked Gem in the eye and continued, voice strong.

"Tron is the Grid's security monitor. I wrote him to protect you and every other ISO, Basic and User in the system and he will to the greatest extent of his ability. I take it as a personal insult that you continue to treat him like he's responsible for the Purge!" Tron's eyes alone betrayed the relief his words had given the program, and Alan could only hope he'd believe them at last.

AN:

Getting slowly closer to the end of this thing, it keeps dragging along. Sorry I've taken forever to get this up; it's exam season were I am. Tron and Kaps had to battle for brain-space with French irregular verbs, algebra, and other nonsense and in the interest of my GPA the nonsense has been winning… back on track soon, hopefully.

Thanks to Cyberbutterfly, Xire, and eresyd for reviewing chapter fourteen!


	17. Survivors Reflect

"Hold still, damnit!"

"Why can't you just fix it with my disk? This is totally unnecessary!"

"This is another dimension, different rules apply! If this was unnecessary, I wouldn't be bothering with you, trust me!"

Tron sighed, listening to the battle between Gem and Alan drag on. The ISO, though seemingly less set on vengeance and (somewhat) less violent, had quickly proved unreasonably unwilling to let anyone get a good look at the small disk-blade cuts on her hand, reminders of the weapon she'd thrown at him in his first microcycles in the User world. In her haste to draw the weapon and attack, she'd discovered that the deceptively sharp edge was without the recognition protocols that protected programs from their own disks in the digital world. The seemingly-inert identity disks had rezzed here with a simple, lethal danger that left dark, violent looking slashes on the intensely white glove of the Siren armor Gem wore and in the skin below. He had suffered a minor, similar cut that his self-repair protocols had already started on. It didn't concern him; he wouldn't bother the Users with something insignificant.

Of the three of them, Kaps had gotten hurt the worst, but unlike Gem he'd been desperate for the User's help, and Sam had already taken care of it as best he could, despite the fact that the identity disks were not code-accessible from this side of the Portal.

Quorra had been sent to get some User clothes for Kaps, Gem and himself, who, according to Alan-1, would inevitably attract unwanted attention in their skintight armor, complete with fluorescent circuits that did not seem to give off light as they had in their digital form, but rather seared the eye through impossibly bright material emblazoned into the sleek flexible armor plates and fabric. Tron didn't see what was so inconspicuous about Siren and Games armor (even if his was highly customized, and Kaps' was highly outdated), but, as Alan-1 had said, another dimension, different rules.

Everything here was so alien to what he'd known for his entire existence, including his own armor. The circuits themselves did not serve as heightened tactile sensors, nor did his Games armor feed him any basic information in itself, as they had on the Grid. Instead, they enclosed and isolated him from his surroundings. _Bizarre. Are all User clothes like this? _He hoped not; as a security program he had to be entirely tuned to his surroundings at all times.

As for Quorra, she had accepted the chore instantly and vanished out the door in a blur. He'd caught her eyes for a split-nano, but before he could say anything she tore away left the arcade, leaving him with the echo of her fear-filled face. She looked so different from when he'd last seen her. Armor, katana and disk gone, she wore the looser, layered clothing of the Users. It wasn't only that- there was no fearful shyness or wariness in the way she moved until she'd seen him. Here, she knew that she wouldn't be killed on the streets simply for being what she was. Here, she could live in freedom, have a happy life. And then the world she'd left behind had come chasing after her, and she had to face him, the killer of her family, friends and race. He wished he'd never had to come here. _How could I ever tell her how _sorry _I am? I'm still Rinzler to her. I'll _always_ be Rinzler to her._ He condensed his weary sadness and frustration into a will to fight against that- to reclaim his identity in the eyes of the world. Emotions were but the fuel of actions.

A blur of movement and an indignant shriek of pain and surprise jolted him from introspection, and he leapt up a split-micro ahead of Sam and Kaps, expecting clashing disks and flying blood at any second, ready for combat. There was none; and he sank back down, regretting moving so fast. Users, he was tired…

Alan-1, apparently having tired of trying to reason with the stubborn Siren, had snatched Gem by the wrist, deftly twisting her arm around so that she could not pull away, injured hand effectively immobilized for examination. It was an expert maneuver, and he cocked his head in surprise, looking to Sam for explanation. He merely offered a knowing smirk, and Tron had to wonder if his User made a habit of this sort of behavior.

He wasn't sure how Gem, accustomed to keeping her distance and avoiding close physical proximity, would take that treatment, though. She was wide-eyed with shock, staring at Alan-1 almost fearfully. The User approvingly looked over the cuts, which had already patched over with some sort of temporary repair material and showed what he took to be early signs of healing.

"All you had to do was hold still for like, fifteen seconds. _Honestly._" Gem declined to defend herself, probably afraid of provoking further arm-twisting though, she gave him an unrepentant glare.

"You won't need stitches or anything. This is actually healing inhumanly fast." Alan assured her, releasing her wrist, which she jerked away reproachfully. Tron snuck a glance at the cut on his own hand- it seemed to be mending at his standard self-repair rate, which he wasn't sure classified as 'inhumanly fast', not that he was really sure what that meant. The transformation they had undergone in the Portal fascinated him as much as it seemed to unnerve Kaps. Had he become a User? What did it mean, to walk in their form? What would he be like when he returned to the Grid?

Gem stalked away from Alan and sat down alone, far as she could get from where Sam, Kaps and he had found a couch and crammed in together. More accurately, he'd sat down and Sam and Kaps had forgotten that some programs liked personal space, and had piled in next to him. Silence hung in the air, heavy with the things all of them wanted to say, but didn't, for fear, anger or sheer weariness he didn't know. _Nothing's going to happen in the next five nanos or so. I recharge faster than most programs; I'll come back online before they even notice I was out. _His eyes had been threatening to fall shut since he sat down, and after assessing once more that there was no immediate threat to be addressed, he let himself sink into recharge. _Five nanos. No more, not until this is sorted out_

* * *

><p><em>.<em>

Quorra had taken Sam's bike, and she raced alone through the city, breaths coming shallow and quick. He couldn't be here. He'd fallen to his destruction above the Sea, no longer Tron or Rinzler, just a broken line of code. Derezzed, undoubtedly, she and Sam had told themselves, and tucked him away in that dark part of their minds full of things they tried to forget. She hadn't known whether to feel joy or grief when he had made his stand against CLU and crashed into the Sea, left by his ex-leader, once-friend. To today, she still didn't know.

Choked screams, white hot disks and faceless monsters lit in orange and gold chased through her mind. _CLU is gone. The Purge is over, _she told herself again and again._ Why do I feel like it's not?_ The eyes she'd just seen weren't Rinzler's. Those storm-filled eyes had seen into her, piercing and omniscient, the same way that the Tron she had forced herself to forget had, so long ago. She'd never seen Rinzler's eyes, but she'd felt them watch her from behind the inhuman helmet- cold, sharp, painful and dead, assessing her as little more than a inert file to be processed and destroyed.

She pulled into Sam's apartment, and sunk onto the couch, head in her hands. Marv nosed at her, sensing her distress, and she smiled faintly, stroking the strange little creature she'd grown to love, forcing herself to relax. She missed the Grid, but she hadn't missed the fear, the constant knowledge that Rinzler and the darker force that had created him were surrounding and hunting her, waiting to destroy her and everything she loved, crushing her in the iron vice of perfection. Would this strange, unknown program be the one she'd once thought could always save her, or the one who had proved her wrong? Alan trusted Tron, and she reminded herself to trust the User and put aside her conflicted thoughts and unsure instincts.

With shaking hands, she absently gathered some of Sam's things for Tron and the other program she'd glimpsed, whoever he was, before finding some clothes of her own for Gem. The act of clothing the enemy irked her, but she had to be practical. Gem couldn't strut around in that promiscuous Siren outfit in San Francisco, unfortunately. Sam had had to bring clothes to the arcade for her that first day in the User world, lest someone see her and start asking questions.

As she tried to find where on the turning Earth Sam's socks were stashed, her thoughts kept turning back to Tron. She wished he'd stayed on the Grid, kept his broken, desperate eyes from ever meeting hers. Silently pleading, asking, and burning with things long unspoken. She'd flinched away from the intensity of that stare, but she would have to face it again without running away sooner or later. Breathing in the familiar scent of Sam, lingering on his clothes, she calmed herself to return to the arcade with measured, meditational breaths as Flynn had taught her.

Stuffing the clothes into a messenger tote, Quorra started up the bike and then paused, jumping off and running to grab one final item, remembering how hard removing her own tough, no-zippers armor had been. A handful of seconds later, she peeled away from the flat, armed additionally with the large garden shears purchased a few weeks ago exclusively for the purpose of freeing her from the Grid attire. Another shiver of apprehension ran through her. Thousands of cycles of fear did not simply evaporate in the light of day.

_Please be right about him, Alan._

* * *

><p>Far more recently than it felt, he'd been trawling the shoreline of the Sea, a menial episode in the typical hardscrabble life of any program. Between then and now, he'd saved Rinzler from deresolution and torture, Rinzler (though not really in anything resembling fair combat, but still, something to brag about), met the Son of Flynn and Tron's creator, been stabbed in the back and come closer to deresolution than he had in a long time, fallen into the Portal and learned what a Sharpie was. (It was not a weapon as the named suggested, but rather a marking device that would be perfect to 'decorate' the recharging security monitor sprawled out next him, according to Sam.)<p>

_I'm either very lucky, or else cursed. _

Eying his injured hand, wrapped in what had formerly been a strip of Sam's shirt, he decided he was probably more in the direction of 'cursed'. According to Sam and Alan's theorizing, he would not be able to heal, as he had no self-repair functions in his code like Gem, Quorra and Tron. However, programs were universally designed to function with minor damage or corruption by simply deactivating the damaged section and rerouting whatever functions it was responsible for. Thankfully, this had meant that the wound had quickly stopped bleeding as blood flow was rerouted around the laceration.

There was so much he wanted to see. What were the cities here like? He'd heard once of an eternally burning ball of fire that gave the whole world warmth. As impossible as it seemed, he still hoped it was real. Everything here, from the fabric of the couch to the clothing the Users wore was intricate, unpredictable and complicated. One the Grid, everything was made of structures of code, a repeating base pattern what was regular and unbroken down to the tiniest scale. Here, it was all so imperfect. _CLU's lucky he never came here. The mere _mess _of this place would have knocked him offline in a micro flat._ He wondered if the entire world was this dusty and faded, but the few image files that had floated around the Grid pre-coup had depicted a world of colors and bright skies. And he, of all the Basics, was going to get to see at least some of it.

_Okay, maybe it's not so bad._

* * *

><p>She was trapped and alone. Gem sat ramrod straight at the edge of the dusty, ancient sofa in the upstairs of the arcade, tense and coiled to explode into motion at any minute.<p>

_What now?_

Zuse was gone. He'd traded his life for hers. Jaex, Siria and Volien had been attacked off guard and struck down in the safety of their shared quarters, and she'd been too late to warn them, stop their deresolution. _And I now sit in the same room as their killer. _As much as she wanted to hate him, as much as she _had_ hated him, she still saw the ugly truth, that he and her where very much alike, twisted and broken._ All that is good can be corrupted. All that is corrupted can be rectified._ Tron had been repaired. A damaged program was easily fixed by a capable User. She'd heard of Flynn practically breathing life back into programs mortally wounded in structural failures and uncontained gridbug attacks, in whispers that CLU had tried so hard to exterminate. But as for herself, Gem didn't think Alan or Sam or even the lost Creator could fix her.

At least Alan seemed to believe she was not beyond redemption. She clung to his gentle, strong assurances, like a hand reaching to pull her from the Sea of Simulation. Now that the burning, simmering fury had drained away at last, all the old grief and old pain returned to her heart in a tempest long kept at bay. Her face remained composed; there were no tears in her eyes. From her first days online, she'd found her emotions easy to cage inside. To anyone but her sisters, she would have looked like a typical, detached Basic with no more care in life but their pointless function. At least she could control herself, when everything else had spiraled into confusion.

Alan lowered himself down next to Sam, and she almost felt a small stab of envy, seeing the four Users and programs trusting each other enough to lower their guards and relax without fear of attack. Enough so that Tron seemed to have in fact fallen into recharge. She hadn't recharged in the presence of any living being in so long the concept was foreign to her. Could she really ever overcome what she had become, what she had to be to survive for all those countless cycles? How could Tron?

She had seen Tron, beyond the face smoothed by a User's hand of the pixilated wounds that once scarred it. She'd seen it in the way he flinched and tried to hide it when Alan looked at him, and in the desperate way he sought forgiveness in Quorra's eyes. She could tell herself that programs where machines easily rid of damage, but deep down she knew better. And yet he carried on as he knew he had to, to protect the Grid, even her. Perhaps neither of them _could_ be fixed by restored lines of code. Perhaps Tron- and her- had to heal.

_Please be right about me, Alan. _

AN: Bleah, I feel like this is a bunch of random filler-fluff that I shouldn't have posted, but it sort of turned into a chapter all of its own and I wanted to sort of not only show a little more into the minds of Gem and Tron, but also Quorra, who so far I haven't worked with very much. Should I have deleted the narrative with Kaps? It almost feels like it doesn't quite 'fit' in here.

Thanks to Cyberbutterfly, Xire, Altsus Arserii, Sonata IX and Zuzanny for reviewing Chapter Fifteen!


	18. Together We Can Hope

Her mind had been spinning with possible situations she might have to react to upon returning to the arcade, trying to imagine all the things that could have gone wrong in her absence. But she was unprepared for what greeted her- Sam, Alan, Tron and the unknown Basic where crammed together on the upstairs couch without any violence, arguing or the hostile, nervous tension that had filled the arcade fifteen minutes ago. To her shock, Tron appeared to be out cold in recharge- head resting in the crook of his arm against the end of the couch. Sam and Alan were deep in conversation, talking in low tones about the Grid and its restoration.

Gem was sitting as far from any of them as she could, and the look in her eyes was unreadable to Quorra; contempt- or perhaps jealousy. The Basic said nothing, but she could tell that he was raptly listening to the Users, even as his keen eyes scanned every detail of the room before lighting on her. She stepped into the office without further hesitation, bag stuffed with clothes clutched in one hand.

"So…" She began, looking to Sam and Alan-

"Do you two have any plan for getting these three into User clothes?"

Getting her into clothes hadn't been so bad, but she was one ISO, and she trusted Sam, which was more than she could say for at least one of the three in question. He had mostly instructed her on how to put on the clothes he'd bought for her through a closed door, and nearly suffered system failure of some variety when she'd asked him about the purpose and application of a brassiere. She counted the experience as one of the more humorous in her runtime, remembering Sam floundering around for words, quite out of character for him. He preferred to forget the exchange entirely.

Undertaking that process with two male Basics and one disagreeable female ISO could be problematic, not to mention time consuming.

"Okay, hold on," started Alan, standing.

"First of all, somebody wake him up. We need to sort something out." All eyes fell on the oblivious security program, who showed no sign of waking, and Gem and Quorra spat out as one-

"Someone else!" She exchanged a look with the Siren, surprised. Gem didn't react, and merely shot her another cryptic stare. Sam gave Alan a reproachful look as if to say, _do you really expect _me_ to prod _him _awake?_

Without further preamble the Basic rolled his eyes, rose from the couch with a dramatic sigh and gingerly approached Tron from behind.

"Sure, leave it to the dispensable guy." Despite his resigned words, there was an impish gleam to the program's eyes, and Quorra hoped he wouldn't get himself derezzed.

* * *

><p>There were endless opportunities for some sort of grand prank in front of him, but he decided against the more spectacular possibilities. Tron had in all probability retained his uncanny reflexes and superprogram strength. A glancing blow alone from the monitor could lay him flat with a new cut or some other painful marks, even just as he was coming out of recharge. <em>Oh, well. Other opportunities will arise in time, I'm sure.<em>

He delicately poked Tron in the shoulder, gathering no response. There was a fine line here somewhere between _rousing from recharge _and _provoking deresolution, _and he would do his best not to cross it.

"All the beauty sleep in the world can't help you, _mon ami. _Give it up." Tron might have twitched, but he wasn't sure.

A slightly harder shove gathered no response. _Time for a new tactic._

"_I am the virus Abraxas. I will not be defeated again." _He hissed into Tron's ear, trying to keep his voice serious.

"_Resistance is futile, program. Prepare for assimilation." _He heard someone- perhaps Quorra- stifle a surprised laugh.

Tron's hand snaked out and grabbed his wrist faster than his eyes could track, twisting it around so that he couldn't pull away, and his other hand smoothly disengaged his twin disks and separated them with a threatening _snick-click. _Kaps froze, unsure of if his life was in danger or not.

"I don't remember Abraxas having such an annoying voice," growled Tron, who had not yet opened his eyes or sat up. He did so now, turning and giving Kaps a stare that could burn through Games armor. He gave the program a weak grin in return, wilting a little for fear. _He's still glitching terrifying, Rinzler or not!_

"Tron!" Alan came to his rescue, drawing the monitor's attention away from Kaps, though he maintained his vice grip on his wrist.

"The security threat here has been handled and neutralized. You are free to return to the Grid and your duties there." Tron tilted his head, obviously considering the unspoken second option. _Wow. Is this even like a _difficult choice _to you?_

"I cannot leave the system unguarded." Tron let go of him, and he hastily retreated, placed Sam and Quorra between him and the other program.

"The Grid's gotten along fine without you for the past hundred cycles or so, you do realize," he pointed out dismissively, in spite of his usual indifference. _I mean, _really. _The Grid is in a better way now than was right after CLU got taken out, and we hung in there despite the total lack of a security program._

"From what I've seen, your definition of _fine _is an unstable, fractured system on the verge of shutdown," shot back the other program, shaking his head. He shrugged- Tron did have a point, but Kaps was suspicious that he just wanted to get away from the ISOs, who undoubtedly brought dark memories to the front of his mind. _That guy just can't seem to catch a break, can he?__  
><em>

"Granted, Sam and Alan-1 have greatly stabilized things and I anticipate far less chaos upon my return. But I can't stay here as long as it is still not secure there." He added, nodding to the Users as he stood. Apparently that was what Captain Tactless considered a suitable farewell. He was halfway out the door before anyone could say anything else.

Kaps shook his head in wonderment; he couldn't imagine leaving the User world mere nanos after rezzing into it, but somehow he wasn't surprised that the security program was instantly back into protect-the-system mode, off to contain the next impending crisis when it came. He had no understanding of Tron's driven, purposeful life. His own unimportant function had been easily put aside for the time being. It was a result, he was sure, of being near-obsolete since the coup.

He hadn't run a _real _search for _real _Users in so long that he had long ago lost the heavy sense of importance most programs associated with their given task in existence. At one point that had depressed him, but he found himself too distracted by hardscrabble post-coup life to think about it. Instead, he had simply put his energy into queries from other programs instead, risking life and limb for them as he had for User Flynn.

But Tron… he did a lot more that fight for the Users. The entire Grid was his alone to protect, and he never had a picocycle away from that sacred duuty, whether new commands were given to him or not. Somehow Kaps envied him in that, ridiculous as it seemed.

Alan sighed, turning to follow Tron.

"I'll have to talk to him later. Sam, try to start getting these two presentable. I'll be back in a second."

"Where are you going?" Quorra protested, concerned. She was obviously dead-terrified of Tron, with good reason. Kaps could imagine that the ISO was convinced that he might turn on Alan at any minute, and the fearful worry in her eyes confirmed that. He'd had difficulty of his own seeing anything but Rinzler in the monitor's place and he hadn't experienced anything even close to what Quorra had as an ISO. _Tron has one hell of a reputation to get rid of. _

"He may not realize it yet, but there's no way he knows how to work that Shiva laser. I'll lend him a hand."Alan told her. She nodded, but his words hadn't reassured her.

"You're just sending him back, right? Not…" He put a hand on her shoulder, giving her a gentle smile. Her voice trailed off and she looked away.

"I wouldn't leave you with these three ruffians, now would I?" Kaps belatedly realized he had probably been insulted with some unknown User terminology; it was just as well, seeing as it had convinced Quorra that she wouldn't lose another friend today. She weakly returned his smile, and he left after Tron.

* * *

><p>He flew down the steps, taking them three at a time, trying to make sense of his own actions. There was so much he wanted to know, so many things he'd wanted to ask. He'd always imagined coming to Flynn's beloved world, but dismissed the idea as a gross lapse in his duties to the Grid. And yet, here he was.<p>

Perhaps it wasn't too late to stay, he mused, but he knew that was just a wistful line of code. He had to ensure that the system was safe. He had to make sense of his own memories. Maybe sometime in the future, he would come here again. Even as he told himself that, he began to doubt it would ever happen.

He stepped silently into the laser bay, moving with practiced, graceful stealth. Belatedly he realized he had no reason to do so except to preserve the seemingly undisturbed tranquility of the forgotten room. The notion was betrayed by the gleaming white disk lying on the floor, splashed with fresh blood.

The cluttered, dim room lit with yellow light streaming through the window was a strange parallel to the pristine, untouched office in the basement of the Grid's arcade. Silence and dust clung to every surface. Wonderingly he let his gloved fingers hover over the faded pictures of Sam and Jordan next the faded maps and diagrams of the Grid tacked to an old board, afraid the slightest touch would derezz them into the gray dust.

Sam now bore very little resemblance to the beaming child in the worn photos, and he'd never met Jordan, but he recognized them both instantly. Flynn had shown him hundreds of similar images, and told him everything about both of them. At every chance he updated him on Sam's progression through the User education system, dinner out with Jordan last night. Small, unimportant things that Flynn had cherished just as much as the Grid, if not more so. This always seemed to be whenever Tron had some particularly pressing obligation elsewhere, but he had come to enjoy, even look forward to, listening to stories from a domestic, happy life so very different from his own.

Looking at the Grid were it sat on the table, he could see now just how insignificant his world was, seen from this one. When he'd first rezzed here, he hadn't even realized what it was. How could it all be in there, Outlands, City and Sea, somehow contained in or at least tethered to this little, boxy device? It was impossible. It was… somewhat disappointing.

For the first time, he saw how easy it must have been for Flynn to put his world before the only one Tron had ever known. He would always hold faith in his friend, but he still remembered the dark times that had fallen on the Grid due to him- the long absences and constant excuses, how he and CLU were left to shoulder a system that was not theirs alone to control.

He pushed that line of code aside, eyeing the laser. _How on the Grid does that thing work? Rather, how _off _the Grid… _

It was an alien silhouette on the other end of the room, shrouded in what could only be _cobwebs, _something Flynn had described to him once. Warily approaching it, he looked for some way to activate the transfer sequence. Maybe if he just touched it, it would come online. The Grid portal was a solid beam of active protocol that instantly transferred code with the slightest physical contact. Hesitantly poking this device provoked no response, and he couldn't help but feel a little clueless, something he rarely experienced, and wholeheartedly despised.

"Need tech support over there?"

He started and leapt around, disks split and at the ready in his hands in a split-nano. He didn't quite avoid a nicked finger from the blades this time- _Glitch it, how am I supposed to fight if I can't hold my own disks!- _and then he screeched to a halt when he saw who he'd just turned on.

Alan-1 looked equally alarmed by his violent reaction, and stepped back, eyes on the disks. Tron hastily clipped them back to their port, fumbling with the sharp edges. For a moment, he wished he could vanish, dissolve into pure mortification.

"I'm sorry. I…" He trailed off, unsure of what he could say, eyes downcast. The monitor felt truly bit-brained, another rare and unpleasant sentiment.

"Don't be." Tron looked up sharply, head tilted. That was not the response he expected.

"I wrote you to react immediately and decisively. Seeing as you put your disks away, I think I approve of the decision made." He gave a small, silent nod, still on edge, barely registering the forgiveness in his User's words. His nerves were frayed to the breaking point by exhaustion, unrelenting memories, and the general chaos running rampant through his life the Grid alike, and it was taking its toll on him.

"I need to get back to the system." In that nano, he knew he might never get an answer to any of the questions he had.

"I know." His User said, voice softer than his ever was. Tron looked helplessly between the Grid and the laser and then to Alan-1, who dhad quietly began to type commands into the Grid interface keyboard. With the instability on the Grid, he couldn't take anything for granted. S_AY SOMETHING, _he commanded himself. _Say something before it's too late._

"How did the ENCOM system operate after I was transferred to the Grid?" He heard his voice blurt out, a familiar ragged catch twisting the ends of his words. It was the one question that had followed him from the first moment he'd been online on the Grid, a nagging unknown that Flynn had brushed off, assuring him that 'it was fine'.

When Flynn said things were fine, it was best to consult a second source.

"You never left it. I gave Kevin an upgraded, modified copy of your code, that would run at maximum efficiency on this system, which was ahead of its time, but you- well, the original version of you- ran on the ENCOM server for almost ten years, until the server was overhauled in 1991."

He'd never left Yori as he'd feared he would have. He'd never left the system unguarded. It was a burden off of his back, knowing that the programs and system he so loved hadn't been abandoned by him, but a deep pang of sadness stabbed through him. He'd always had a daydream of returning to the ENCOM grid, but he supposed it had left him behind long ago. _  
><em>

* * *

><p>Every second he spent with Tron- the security program <em>he'd written <em>for crying out loud- the more surreal the situation seemed. He had written Tron to react and execute his function decisively as he'd assured the program, but he hadn't written the tense, fighter's stance and the uncanny catlike grace. He had never dictated in code the fierce eyes he knew so well that now refused to meet his own. Even standing here, talking to the program, he marveled at it. _How can this be possible? Kevin was right about one thing- it _is _a miracle._

That wasn't to say he didn't see the fear in the other programs, and in Sam, when they looked at him. The practiced way the Tron turned as his hand leapt to his disks spoke of a certain lethal instinct that seemed like so much more than binary code could ever conjure up. _And yet, nothing but a long-strand deoxyribonucleaic acid polymer is responsible for everything we humans think make us so special. Are these programs really so different?_

"What happened then?" Tron was still standing at attention, raptly focused in on him. Alan realized the ENCOM servers were the program's point of origin- were he'd been written, beta tested, and first installed. It seemed almost like a home, and felt a pang of some sort of sympathy for the program; that 'home' was long gone, and every program in it stored in dusty archive boxes in company basements on hard copies.

"New software was installed; and new programs. The old system was dismantled, and the programs archived on hard copy." Tron nodded, looking both relieved and deeply saddened, shoulders drooping imperceptibly. Alan could only imagine what that meant for a program.

"I… see." Whatever was going through his head, Tron kept it to himself.

"The laser's ready whenever you are." The program looked torn, and he asked in a rush of words, as if afraid he might be digitized at any second and lose his chance.

"Did you look for Flynn? When he went missing?" Alan smiled sadly.

"Everywhere, in every way I could. In the wrong world, of course. I never stopped looking, not until now."

"I stopped fighting for him. A long time ago." There was a hard, unreachable frustration in his eyes, and guilt in his voice.

"Obviously not, or Sam and Quorra would probably be dead," Countered Alan firmly, thinking of the shattered memories of the light jet chase. Tron jerked back in surprise, obviously considering that.

"Look," he said, standing back in front of Tron. He locked eyes with the program, and his stare dared Tron to drop his gaze, and the monitor held his ground despite himself, stubborn as ever.

"I still don't know all the details of the coup, but I know enough. What Rinzler did. I saw how badly you were hurt." Tron flinched ever so slightly at his words, but still wouldn't look away. Alan knew that the program's worst nightmare was probably him, his creator and original User, seeing what he had become, and the fact that he stood now with his head held high impressed Alan. _He's stronger than he knows._ Tron spoke softly, trying to keep his voice clear.

"You removed the corruption. Saved me when I should have derezzed. I thought it was over. That maybe I was what I used to be." He looked at Alan despairingly.

"But when I saw Quorra, I realized that there was no way I could ever be strong enough to make things right for her, or Gem, or the entire Grid. I shouldn't be weak like this. Once, I wouldn't have been." He leaned tiredly back against the wall, fists clenching and unclenching.

"I am running at full capacity again. My source code is fully purged of corruption. There's nothing left to be broken that hasn't been repaired! What can't you fix that you created!" With every word, the faint growl became more prominent. There wasn't even anger in Tron's eyes- just a mire of confusion and sorrow that belied his harsh tone.

"Why am I still broken then, Alan-1?" In that moment, he realized that Tron saw him as more than his User. He saw him as the only one who could possibly save him. That settled heavily on his shoulders, and he knew that he was probably the only person who Tron would hear this from.

"I fixed your code, but your spirit has to heal on its own. Nothing I can do will do that for you."

"What does that even mean?" Tron asked, visibly frustrated.

"It means you have to stop trying to take the flaws of the system as your own mistakes. From what I've seen, you've always been there to shoulder the consequence for everyone, and you've always been strong enough to rise to the challenge. Don't forget that." The program sighed, looking very old for a split second, his true age shadowing his face, before he answered.

"We didn't make this mess, but we can clean it up," he said, and Alan realized that he had told Tron that shortly after bringing him back online from repairs. Alan grinned, putting a hand on his program's shoulder. Tron tensed at the contact, but then relaxed and gave him a small smile.

"I only hope that you're right." He said, but the heavy dejection had lifted from his voice. Alan shrugged.

"I usually am."

* * *

><p>He exchanged a look with Quorra, trying to plan out how this was going to work.<p>

"You take Gem and I'll deal with Kaps." Gem glared at him, and then at Quorra, who gave him a look that said, 'what did I ever do to you?'.

"Not fair, Sam." She told him, though they both knew that she was better fit for the job than he was.

"Yeah, Sam, not fair!" Chimed in Kaps. Sam leveled the program with his best Alan-stare.

"Don't you start." Kaps merely smirked, and Sam turned back to Quorra.

"Did you bring the shears?" She fished them from her bag and handed them to him. He looked from the blades to Kaps and back. _Oh God, this is going to be _really _awkward. _

"You and Gem can leave now. I'll bring these down for you in a second." He said with some resignation. Quorra nodded, and made for the door.

"Come on." She said, nodding to Gem. The other ISO rose and reluctantly followed her downstairs into the arcade without protest.

Sam turned to Kaps, who was staring fearfully at the garden shears.

"Just… hold still here for a second." Sam said weakly, walking behind the program, sliding the shears between his skin and the clinging black Gridsuit. He cut the armor straight down the back, or as best he could with the tougher armor plates in the way, making more of a zigzag through the weaker fabric between. Kaps flinched were the metal blades touched his skin, and held himself stiff as a board, terrified of being cut. It was slow work, more of crudely sawing at the stubborn armor than cutting straight through it.

"Users," Kaps hissed through clenched teeth.

"This is worse than being fitted with Games armor when the Sirens know and personally dislike you." He said, twitching as the shears poked at him. Sam remembered his own encounter with the frosty ISOs, who didn't know him and still had made the process more embarrassing than it needed to be, and shuddered as he thought of the unpleasant things a Siren light scalpel could do if the wielder twitched their finger just a little. He had to ask.

"What did you do to piss them off? I thought you worked for Zuse and Gem, their crowd."

"I'm a freelance program, and this was way before I got that desperate. Long ugly story involving compromising image captures." He left it at that, but Sam resolved to get more details later.

Quorra's skin had been smooth and unmarked, save for her ISO tattoo, but Kaps' back was covered in barely luminescent, blue-green nodes and lines that resembled the circuits of his armor. _That's even weirder here than it was on the Grid._ These circuits were thinner and delicate looking, in a more fine and detailed array that was only marred by a small scar he glimpsed near his shoulder blades. It had the pixelated appearance that was the mark of a simple patch repair.

Kaps had fallen back to silence, but now he piped up again as something occurred to him.

"Wait, so you had to do this to Quorra too?" Sam reddened slightly; glad that Kaps couldn't see it.

"Yeah." He provided no further detail.

"That must've been interesting." The program prodded, and Sam glared in silence before responding.

"You have no idea." He told the program flatly. Kaps laughed.

He made a final cut down the small of the program's back, and then stepped away, tossing him some clothes from the bag.

"I leave the rest up to you. Have fun." He told the program, grinning at the look of absolute bewilderment on his face as he stared at the pile of clothes before heading down to the ISOs downstairs.

* * *

><p>She and Quorra had stood in awkward silence since leaving the office upstairs, both pretending to be more interested in the shrouded 'arcade games', something she'd heard of somewhere a long time ago, the floor and the ceiling than it was possible to be, looking anywhere but at each other.<p>

She almost wanted to apologize to Quorra somehow; to reconcile with her last remaining fellow ISO. But she had no idea what to say, what would be a lie and what was genuine. Was she sorry for what she'd done at the End of Line? Did she hate the Users as much as she though she did? It was all too confusing, and she needed to take time to sort through it all.

"Do you think anyone else survived the Purge?" Quorra's hesitant words cut through the silence and jolted her back to the present. The younger ISO was looking at her with a strange intensity; perhaps it was hope. She had seen it in the faces of the programs who came pleading to Zuse, before he sold them out to CLU.

"I mean, if we could make it, maybe…" Quorra took her silence for rejection and trailed off uncertainly. In truth, it wasn't even a possibility she'd let herself consider; only she out of her sisters had evaded CLU's rule, and they'd had all of Zuse's resources at their disposal. It took her a few nanos to come to terms with the idea.

"I don't know." She said, shaking her head. Without intending to, she spoke her next thoughts aloud.

"I didn't want to hope and then have that ripped away too, so I never let myself process on it. I've just been telling myself that everyone's derezzed ever since the Purge ended. It's less painful, not hoping." Alarm coursed through her. _Glitching idiot!_ Why had she said that? Quorra merely gave a sad nod.

"Life has a way of moving you past things like hopes and dreams." Whispered the other ISO, and Gem knew somehow that those words belonged to someone else, but they still made her throat tighten. Something was wrong with what Quorra had said, though, she realized.

"No," She said, and Quorra looked at her, perplexed.

"What do you mean"- the other ISO started before she continued, cutting Quorra's question off. Something had clicked in her mind, and she knew it might just be the answer to how she would pick up the pieces of her life.

"-Life is driven by hopes and dreams. It's when you stop living and start surviving that you move past everything you lived for."

She looked Quorra in the eyes.

"Let's start to live again. Everyone we knew may be gone, but so is CLU. And who knows. I'll be willing to hope that maybe some others survived somehow if you are." Quorra looked away.

"I still think I should hate you." Gem didn't blink. Quorra was right, of course.

"I still think I should hate you, too. But we could be the last ISOs, so we're kind of stuck on the same team." Silence hung for a moment. Gem couldn't believe what she was saying. This wasn't how she did things. She held her cards close to her chest. She didn't lay them out for everyone to take advantage of.

"Kaps is changing. Here's the clothes and stuff." Sam called from upstairs, coming down towards them. Quorra called back an acknowledgement. Though their conversation was effectively ended by that, Gem sensed that the game had changed again. There was a connection between them, two survivors destined to carry the legacy of their race, and that terrified her.

They were not friends. Calling them allies would still be a stretch. But they had each other after being alone for so long, and together they could dare to hope again.

* * *

><p>AN: I got around five sentences into the narrative with Alan and Tron, and got stuck there for around a week trying to get that scene right. There was so much emotion and tension and character development and it fried my middle-schooler brain. I hope the end result was okay! These last few chapters have just kept on getting tougher, and I've really been relying on the amazing job you reviewers do to lend me a hand. You all know who you are. For this chapter, thank Cyberbutterfly, Xire, Zuzanny, Elz Durzen, Avid Reader403 and 3LW00D for lending me some much needed advice.<p> 


	19. And Life Goes On

He looked at his User, and nodded. Alan-1 entered the command into the Grid-device, and the laser hummed to life, calibrating. He locked eyes with him in silent farewell, unwilling to say goodbye to the world and the Users in it that he'd just met.

There was a sharp, electric _zap- _a jolt of incredible power that tore him into tiny bytes of data-and then he was online, feet on solid code. He scrambled blindly for a nano to recalibrate to the system, data relays linking back to the world around him one by one, AV feeds flickering to life. His breaths were loud and harsh in the stillness around him. He leaned against the wall behind him, feeling the familiar, almost intangible thrum of power through stable, functional code. The feel of it anchored him back to his world, his element, after the dizzying blur that had been his brief foray into the User world.

Cursory scanning revealed that he was in Gamma, in the same hub file that he'd rebooted in after Kaps found him, presumably in the same spot that Sam and Alan had first appeared.

He ascertained that there were no programs nearby, hostile or otherwise, and knelt to the ground, palms flat against the ground User-style, and began to run a full-system scan. It was a serious undertaking that required all of his processing power; well beyond the ability of almost all Basics- even search engines or similar repair functions.

He scans dug deep into the Grid, and he closed his eyes to focus into the mire of damaged coding and corrupted files, the password locked Sentry and Black Guard programs, the decaying and derezzing buildings. He heard disjointed echoes of the screams and laughter and chatter of every program online, however basic and unimportant, as his scans flashed over them. The hissing sigh of the Sea mixed with the deep thrum of the veins of energy that interlaced and powered the system, both suddenly apparent to him. He fearlessly plunged into the immensity of the system, one of the few who wouldn't crash or lock up under the dataflow of the entire Grid.

His circuits dimmed until they faded out entirely, and the ground around his hands glowed a blinding white blue as data flowed directly from the system into his processor, swamping his databanks with the updated information in a surge of power.

He smiled faintly as the scans saved and terminated, and then stood, stretching. Communicating with the computer itself on a basic level was an instinctual need for security programs; failure to do so would quickly outdate his databases and render him useless to protect the Grid.

The scans showed him what he'd already known- that the Grid had been brought back from the brink of failure by Alan-1 and Sam and was functional as a whole, but it still needed internal repairs and had many damaged, stray and renegade programs that fell to him to deal with.

_It has been way too long since someone cleaned up this place._

To his irritation, his lightcycle batons were of course long gone, and the chase jet he had clipped to his leg was damaged from when he'd supercharged it. He knew now where he should go to start handling the myriad security threats rampant in the Grid; he'd just have to get there the slow way. As he stepped out of the shelter of the building into the cool light of the city, he realized how much he'd missed this- hunting down threats and hostiles, knowing every corner of the city, becoming an extension of it serving to protect the world he loved.

Gamma was as a whole untouched by the countless eternities of strife and internal decay that plagued the city; mostly because there was nothing here worth CLU's time. Other than the usual symptoms of User neglect, it remained as it had in a time when Flynn had walked its streets. It was a residential area that housed Basics, far from the ISO colonies- far enough that few had ever come here to begin with. Most ISO sympathizers had operated out of Epsilon. He knew their trapdoors and hollow walls and fronts, how they worked, where they tried to send the ISOs, and Gamma didn't factor into that.

After all, he'd personally derezzed them and everything they'd protected. He did not look forward to his return to that sector- both for what it had been to him before the coup- and what he might find there still. Nonetheless, he headed straight for it. Of anywhere on the Grid, the desperate place where Kaps had nearly met his deresolution for Sam and Alan-1 needed him the most.

Epsilon was just as he remembered it when he arrived, having crossed the majority of the city on foot. He ran a few more acute, focused scans, and grimaced at what he found. Every instinct he had screamed danger. Around half of the programs staring icily at him from the shadows were tagged as strays, and many more were suspected rogues- programs modified beyond their original parameters by Zuse and similar programs with code altering ability to fit their own needs.

It was probably better that he still had no helmet; his face was inevitably long forgotten to the thousands of Basics that had seen him only in passing, but Rinzler's predatory, impervious mask was impossible to delete from memory- enough to be recognized as the enforcer, the murderer. That wouldn't help him salvage this mess. Nevertheless, he walked with his head low, sticking to the shadows. He kept walking like he had somewhere else to be. These programs survived by derezzing first and scanning later- a step out of place would bring them onto him like grid bugs to raw energy, and he preferred to keep deresolution to a element of surprise was always useful.

Most of these strays had poorly retrofitted security features, undoubtedly serving as guards for the various contraband dealers lurking around. All of whom he would have to root out from their rat-holes and deal with accordingly sooner or later.

He had none of the resources he usually had available; no supporting Recognizers, sentries and guards to take tagged programs to quarantine, no weapons save his disks or even a light cycle to pursure fleeing programs with, but that was nothing new. On the Encom grid, it had been him versus the total forces of the MCP- _yeah, and look at how _that _went, till Flynn showed up_- and he knew how to work against the strength of numbers. At their source code, these were obsolete, damaged and energy-starved programs just trying to survive and he was the best security program on the Grid. It wasn't even a real competition.

To start, he slipped into an alleyway occupied only by a Basic slumped in the corner, barely conscious, who didn't even register his presence. He discretely pressed his hand to the wall of the building behind his back, accessing the Epsilon coding.

_SectorDesignation: _Epsilon. Select.

_SectorCommands: _Security quarantine. Initiate.

There was a flicker through the circuitry of the streets and buildings as the lockdown closed Epsilon off from the rest of the Grid. It was also now shut down from any outside repairs, but that could wait. Now, he could deal with it without the various programs in question fleeing to hide somewhere else.

Various cries of alarm rang through the area.

[What was that?]

[Get inside! It's a security sweep!]

[Felt the scans earlier, should've known!]

[Glitch, was that Rinzler? I thought he derezzed!]

[Tron lives!] Tron smiled as he slipped unnoticed out into the chaotic streets, though that old war cry brought back its share of painful memories, of hopeful faces and broken hope. As always, he brushed it aside. There was work to do.

* * *

><p>He had been in the User world for around thirty of their minutes (he had already started processing relative to the new time units to a large degree). In that time, he'd learned how to wear the strange clothes that passed for normal. According to Sam, this was standard garb for Users of his apparent age (Quorra and the Users had agreed he'd pass for somewhere in his late twenties, but maybe older). He rather liked the looser, complex User clothes he'd managed to put on, known to him as jeans, t-shirts and a hoodie.<p>

He'd learned that he couldn't scan things and receive instant information, he had to use his senses to glean what he could manually. Vehicles didn't derezz into batons, they _parked _in hibernation was overwhelming, exhausting, and all he had seen so far was the inside of a 'arcade', a glimpse of city, and the interior of Alan's User vehicle, a car, where he now sat, clipped to the seat with a basic restraint called a 'seat belt'.

He watched the city pass by with wide eyes, forehead pressed to the window, carefully committing each detail to memory and finding that he couldn't keep up with the information his eyes gave him. He settled for memorizing larger things, the buildings, cars, and Users flying by outside. It was dark, and he fleetingly wondered where that sun he'd heard of was.

"I don't think you've been this quiet this long since I met you, with the exception of when you were unconscious." He turned to face Alan, who was looking at him, bemused. He was driving them to Sam's residence, known as a 'flat', where they could arrange for him and the Siren to live, at least temporarily. He gave him an apologetic smile, breaking away from his trance.

"You're welcome." The User laughed a little at that.

"It's just… all of this." He continued, unsure of how to frame the alien immensity of the world around him in words. Alan didn't seem to mind, nodding in understanding.

Turning around so he could see Gem in the back seat, he realized that she was equally entranced in the view flashing by her window.

Her eyes were wide and unabashed in their curiosity; and her face was younger somehow; that careful mask had fallen away. Since he'd first met her, she'd shrouded herself in ice and lies, and her technique was flawless when it came to hiding in plain sight. She leaned with her head against the window, nose pressed to the glass. He smiled, surprised, and turned back before she saw him. To see her like that was something he held carefully in his memory- it was possible he'd never see the fragile, innocent ISO again as he had in this moment.

He saw Alan glance at the small mirror facing back, and he knew the User saw her too. He opened his mouth to say something, and Kaps shook his head, finger to his lips.

_Let her have her moment._

* * *

><p>"Tron lives!"<p>

That last defiant shout was followed the hum of light staffs and disks and the electronic snarl of weapons colliding. He raced down the street with abandon now, arriving a block down to find a trio of Black Guards desperately trying to fend off a gang of programs with shabby but effective battle patches. Apparently they had been emboldened by the lockdown.

His first impulse was to leap to the aid of the programs, but he knew the Guards, knew what they had been. The Black Guard was made of his former allies; firewall and defense functions that had worked under him. As programs they were much newer and less complex than him, and though they had been loyal to the end, CLU had less need for the cunning and strategic processing in them he had wanted from Rinzler. Their reprogramming had been far more all-encompassing and less allowing of independent processing and memory. They had truly become CLU's perfect soldiers. Still… perhaps they could be saved. He could certainly use the help.

Two female programs took one guard and he clenched his teeth as one feinted and the other lunged in for the kill, catching the Guard in the arm with her disk. To his surprise, he merely fell back sporting a useless, damaged arm, switching his staff to his other hand. If the program had let more energy charge into her disk, he would have been derezzed on the spot, but hers was still set to the default low-power settings that prevented it from striking lethally.

_Good, _he thought. These were novices, save for one, who trading blows with a Guard fearlessly and skillfully, a male program in cyan circuitry. He waited a half nano more before intervening, identifying the leader of the Basic's gang and the commander of the Guard squadron as the two squaring off in the middle.

Without further hesitation, he dived from the shadows and into the path of the light staff of the commander, slamming his fully charged disk into the energized end. The right amount of energy feedback would short it out, and he had calculated his shot correctly. He spun to face the lead program even as the Guard cried out, his weapon sending a charge of feedback energy through his hands. Tron feinted to the right with a disk cut as his left foot shot out and caught the program, a lanky fighter with light hair and sharp, flashing eyes, high in the ribs with a crunch of unarmored code. _He'll live. I hope there's a decent repair program around here somewhere, though._

The Basic's eyes flew wide and his circuits flickered, and in that window Tron's other hand snaked out and snatched his disk from slack fingers. The three remaining programs disengaged and helped their fallen leader out of easy reach of the Guards or Tron. As long as he had the disk, the fearful Basics would cooperate with him.

The Black Guard meanwhile stood still in formation, scanning him and obviously trying to determine whether he was their superior or an enemy. Tron noticed that this should have been a squad of four. There was no doubt as to what had happened to the missing soldier. He stood between the two groups, fixing each with a hard stare. The leader Basic narrowed his eyes back with his chest out, standing tall despite the structural damage to his side.

"Identify," growled the commander, voice badly distorted. Tron felt a stab of sympathy- he knew too well what the program had been through. That distortion told him a story of pain and reprogramming. He kept his face impassive though, seeking the Guard's eyes through his helmet.

[You scanned me three times, Rallax. It's me. _Tron._ Your memories are blocked, but I know he didn't totally wipe you all blank. CLU is derezzed. Fight it, Rallax. I know you're still in there.] He told the program more directly in binary. The others didn't need to hear this.

The guard flinched imperceptibly at his old designation, which Tron had gathered when he'd done the full system scan. These three were some of the last- without CLU, the sentries and other programs aligned to him had been mercilessly purged from the system by revolting programs. The other remains of the Guard were dug into obscure files around the outskirts of the city, waiting for commands that would never come before making their presences known.

[Incorrect. Tron unit derezzed. Designation Rallax invalid. Stand down or face immediate deresolution. ] Tron grit his teeth. If- and that was a major variable- he could snap the Guards out of their reprogramming, it was a process that would take time that he didn't have with his back facing three armed, scared programs and one angry, unarmed program.

[Sorry.] He darted behind Rallax faster than he could respond and kicked high at his disk lock, meeting with a solid _thwack_- temporarily taking him offline even as the blades of his hands met the necks of the other two Guards, sending them to the ground in a single easy flash of motion. He clipped codebinding restraints to their wrists and turned to the gaping Basics.

[I don't get it,] snarled the leader, glaring.

[Who's side are you on! And why in deletion are you calling yourself Tron?] He felt no need to prove himself to these rogues, but he still calmly split his disks, charging each, watching their light gleam in the program's wide eyes, recognition dawning on him and his three comrades, before returning them to his disk lock. It would likely earn him enough respect and fear to deter them from making his job harder than it had to be.

[It is customary to identify by designation.] He tossed the program his disk, which he barely caught.

[Behave yourselves. This system is mine to protect, and I will. If you want to help fix this mess, report to me. If not, stay out of the way and leave the Guards alone.]

[So they can continue to derezz us one by one? Those three aren't the last.] A female program snapped at him, glaring.

"So I can quarantine them for User repairs. Like the majority of this mess."He raised his voice, directing it at the surrounding onlookers, who had gathered around the skirmish listening and watching the fight. They mostly scattered, vanishing into buildings and rezzing cycles out of the area.

[They're really back?] Ventured the other female on an open channel, earning a reproachful look from her comrade. Tron gave her a nod.

[And they will not leave us again.] She looked at him with wide, wondering eyes, obviously wanting to ask more.

"C'mon, Az!" The other female program tugged on her arm, and she ran to join the rest of her fleeing friends, though she looked back at him over her shoulder once more before vanishing back into the system.

Tron turned to face the immense, damaged mess that was Epsilon, already planning out how he would piece it back together. Here, in his element, he felt freer and more in control of himself and the system he loved than he had in thousands of cycles.

He had a job no program could envy, but he knew that he could handle it. In fact, he almost looked forward to it.

* * *

><p>Sam and Quorra arrived back at his flat before Alan, having taken the Ducati. That, coupled with the conflict of his more liberated views of traffic regulations with Alan's staunch compliance to them gave him a few minutes alone with her to talk. She beat him to it as they went inside.<p>

"What are we going to do with Gem and Kaps now, Sam? As long as they're here, we have two more secrets to keep. Big secrets."He sighed.

"Trust me, Quorra, this wasn't planned. If Alan wasn't so hell-bent on finding Tron, I would have just tried to do everything I could from the outside first, and now… I don't know." He sunk down onto the couch, trying to strategize, to plan.

"The system's doing okay now that we've made most of the major repairs, but it's still kind of chaotic in there," he said, deciding to catch Quorra up before trying to think things through.

"Hopefully Tron will be able to take care of some of that on his own." She looked up sharply at the name, and Sam belatedly realized that until now the last time she'd seen Tron was when he'd been holding her prisoner, merciless and uncaring.

"About that." She cut in, voice suddenly harder.

"How did he survive? And how can you trust him after what he did?" _I sure as hell didn't want to trust him, that's for sure. _

"He washed up onto the shore of the Sea half dead, according to Kaps. He kept him alive until we found him."

"Why did he save him? Is he a loyalist to CLU?" Sam shook his head.

"No, he worked for Gem… she wanted to know what happened, and they were basically just keeping him around for what he knew about the Reintegration. Alan fixed him up. Undid what CLU did to him." Quorra looked away, thoughtful.

"What was he like? When you found him?" The unspoken question was '_was he Tron, or Rinzler?'_

" He was- still is- a little messed up, but he saved my life in there today, and that makes it twice he's saved me." He told her, as honest as possible. She stared, shocked. _Here it comes…_

"Your life needed saving_!"_

"That was too strong of a word, it was survivable-" _Okay, still the wrong thing to say, Flynn-_

"What did you do? Run out under a malfunctioning Recognizer?"

" Under a- wait, what? It was a building collapse, I was inside, I could've survived, maybe-"

"Those buildings give out tons of structural collapse warnings before they fall, did you just ignore them?"

"I was _fixing _it! Geez, you sound like Alan and Tron!" She gave him a withering stare, and he glared back, unrepentant.

This went on for what felt like hours. It was probably closer to thirty seconds. Finally, shifting back and forth, he gave in.

"Okay, I was being stupid." He ground out, sighing.

"And?"

"I won't do it again, you are right and I am wrong, ISOs are superior. Now lay off," he told her, but his tone was light and he gave her what he hoped was a winning smile. Her serious demeanor thawed, and she rolled her eyes.

"You are worse than your father, Sam Flynn." He bowed grandly.

"Hey, it's a talent, what can I say?" Her laugh was warm and soft.

Something told him this might just work out after all. He had Alan and Quorra on his side; he didn't have to go it alone. It seemed like the world was changing yet again, and he found himself almost looking forward to what the future might bring.

* * *

><p>AN: So sorry for vanishing, I'm actually still not dead! You can thank Cyberbutterfly, STRiPESandShades, and an anonymous Guest for this update; whenever inspiration runs dry I turn to my reviewers to lend insight and warm fuzzies. Internet cookies to anyone who catches the reference to Uprising and the one to Evolution in this chapter, by the way.<p>

Anyhow, I'm drawing nearer to the end of this particular storyline and as I start wrapping things up, I would love to hear from you-

What sort of questions do you still have that you think I should be answering in this story?

Is there anything about the storyline that just bugs you? (Plotholes, annoying use of OCs)

Kaps: Hey, HEY! They like me! They asked you not to kill me!

Me: That's because you're not _their_ annoying muse that won't get out of their heads.

Kaps: Annoying muse yourself.

Kaps: You really were going to derezz me in Chapter Eleven, _weren't you!_

Me: …

Me: Of course not.

Kaps: YOU WERE!

Me: I didn't.

Kaps: Only because people were all like 'not the one good OC in the entire fandom!' in the reviews!

Me: They never said that!

Kaps: They were thinking it.


	20. Heads Up

I'll be gone all of this week at summer camp, which has royally screwed my chances of getting the next chapter up until at least Sunday of next week. I'm sorry for the false update, I just wanted to actually provide fair warning for once before I d stop updating for an unreasonable amount of time.

In the meantime, here's some Tron stuff to read. All of this is gen, and some of my favorites besides.

"The Devil's Dues" by DragonWarden

"Grid Lock Tango" by Cyberbutterfly

"A Digital Frontier" by Rinzlerkitty

"Polaroids" and the gen parts of the Ram: Expanded series by Kesomon.

These are by no means all of them, just some of the first stuff that popped into my brain.

And one more question…

Is it really bad that Kaps and Gem have a pairing song?

Kaps: YES.

Me: I was writing a scene way back when with them in I think like chapter nine and listening to Undisclosed Desires by Muse… and it FIT…

Kaps: There are so many things wrong with that _very idea- _

Me: I will not write that I _will not write that!_

Me: It still fits…

Kaps: I can never listen to that song again, you realize.

Me: Yeah, me neither.


	21. She Came Home Alone

It had started to rain. The electric smell of ozone flickered around him, and he tilted his face into the deluge, eyes closed, letting it wash over him.

The rain was more than just a simulation mimicking User-world weather patterns- it was part of the circulation of energy through the system, a rhythm as old as the Grid itself. Standing still and letting it find its way around his code, leaving faint shivering trails of energy on his armor, he felt as connected to his world as any program could.

The fractured scars that had once marked him were gone now- when Alan-1 had repaired him when he'd first found him, they had faded as the corrupted code was purged from his system. But he could almost still feel them sometimes, especially now, as the energy trickled delicately across his neck. Flynn had referred to such sensation as 'phantom pain'. Rinzler had never felt anything like that, but he was still no stranger to memory ghosts. When the storms drummed down on his helmet, close but never touching, they always had left him with a taste of isolation, the forlorn sensation of being lost. He did not like it and could not place it. Therefore he had learned to hate the rain, with its inaudible whispers of something more.

He had once hated many things for what they made him think he should feel, most of all Kevin Flynn.

Tron's eyes opened and he shook his head, sending the faintly glowing droplets in all directions, and he tried to scatter those old, dark thoughts along with them. He focused again, tuning in to the constant data feed from the Grid. It was just a routine patrol that a simpler security scanner could have done, but he had no other programs to send out at the moment. For the time being, he was the only security function in action on the Grid, so _all _of the patrols fell to him.

He alone had put order back into the Grid in the past cycle, and ended the warring of different rebel cells and bands of renegades and lone trouble makers. Many of them had wanted to help him, but without the needed programming, he had quickly found that non-security programs were rather useless for filling in as security functions. Many had some form of patched upgrades, however, and these he could use, at least for support.

Zuse had made the best of his talents as a repair and modification program after the coup- paying programs like these, and like Kaps- in upgrades in return for doing his bidding in all its forms. The nature of the programs of this system was different in that way- in lack of a User, they had slowly began to adapt instead of remaining locked in obsoletion.

He was now cruising at a casual scanning pace along the ragged edge of Delta on a Outlands-capable lightcycle he had confiscated from a contraband dealer, on the lookout for bugs, glitches or new damages to catalogue. He was on his own Grid-side for the time being, but, thank the Users, Sam and Alan-1 had been at work from the outside. Whatever he couldn't get rid of or fix, he could just tag as damaged for them to deal with.

He had a feeling he'd be doing a lot of that tagging in this area. Delta had been a new sector under development at the time of the Purge. CLU had allocated the resources used in its development for his own ends, and it had remained in a state of static incompletion. Raw scaffolding code and energy conduits laid exposed, serving as the perfect bait to attract copious amounts of gridbugs to the fringes of the city.

CLU had merely maintained the problem, rather than correct it. He was a perfectionist; but he had always focused all his energy and force into one goal at a time. The coup, the Purge and then the Rectifier initiative had demanded his full attention one after the other, and thus Delta lay imperfect but very low priority and therefore of no concern to Rinzler, or so he'd always been told, and tried to believe. Some nagging instinct had him spending all of his limited spare time there, fending off the swarms more or less behind CLU's back. There was no directive _preventing _him from doing so, but he still was sure that acting without command was a dangerously mutinous thing.

It was of major concern to Tron right now. The rest of TRON City was well established with good debugging software; this sector was an Achilles' heel, letting swarms form and feed before dispersing into neighboring Gamma and Epsilon.

_Gridbugs detected massing around structural conduit seventeen. _The notification flashed through his processes with a certain crisp efficiency he seemed to be lacking lately and he sighed, veering from his perimeter scan towards the swarm. He was still sore from evacuating programs from a destabilizing file in Epsilon- he had used his armored body as a shield to protect the unarmored Basics fleeing the collapsing building, and had subsequently been pummeled by the falling chunks of derezzing code. No serious damage, but it still _hurt. _His self repair protocols leeched his energy reserves as a result, and his circuits were a dull gray-white. He would have to wait to find some energy, though. There was work to be done, and that came first.

He sent out a security-channel binary message to the ragtag force he'd assembled.

[Swarm massing in Delta in block ten, conduit seventeen. All idle programs report immediately.] There was a ripple of confirmations and acknowledgements from around ten of the thirty odd programs he'd recruited. All obsolete functions who should have been repurposed, they had taken on new directives with the help of illegal upgrades from Zuse, mostly as guards to caches of energy, gang-claimed parts of the city, or contraband stashes. Naturally he wanted to tag them for quarantine along with the remains of the Guard, but he needed them for the time being, and until Alan-1 could unlock and repair them, and write enough new ones to make a decent security force, they would have to do.

The swarm was a decent size, but he cut into the center of it without hesitation, throwing the bugs into disarray. He had a small window before they identified and tagged him as the threat, and hopefully within that window some of his reinforcements would arrive.

If not, it would just be that much harder.

He had thankfully had his helmet restructured by Alan-1, and as the rain drenched him and sheeted over his face he activated it, letting the advanced visual settings and notifications enhance his attacks and make every disk cut count. Dodge, slash, spin, duck, left feint right cut dodge jump- he evaded every mandible and began to thin out the swarm with a vengeance. He worked into the steady rhythm of fighting gridbugs- not an actual pattern of attacks, but a pounding beat of action and reaction.

Attack. Analyze reaction. Defend against next offense, let them get close. Formulate new attack. Execute, repeat.

With a large swarm, the bugs shared information and acted as a collective, and in order to destroy them one had to fight them as the parts of a whole, carefully managing how they would react to stimuli in order to use that against them.

He didn't notice when others joined the fight until he caught a flash of glaring cyan circuits and blond hair between the droves of bugs. It was the surly fighter he'd kicked down in Epsilon when he'd first quarantined the sector- what was his designation again? It didn't matter right now. The swarms had trouble coordinating against multiple adversaries, weakening them but also making them even more unpredictable.

It didn't take long after that, though. There were around ten programs near him fighting now, and they managed to clean up the swarm, responding to orders from Tron to box in and destroy the last few bugs as they tried to scatter. For some, taking orders had been a tough learning curve, but they'd soon remembered just what Tron was capable of, and their respect for him continued to grow the more they worked with him. Rallax had been like that. When Flynn had first rezzed the Guard, the majority of them had been tripping over themselves to follow the existing security programs' lead, but not Rallax. Only after Tron's actions had proven to the new program that he knew what he was doing did he truly begin to listen to his commander.

Once again, he found himself pushing thoughts aside to deal with the current situation. One program had a small bite where a bug had briefly latched on and leeched a little energy, but he was stable and functional, if a little shaken by the encounter. They stood proudly in the inert remains of the swarm at a poor imitation of attention, talking and bragging. The Guard would have been offended that these lawless bandits were being trusted with their job, if they hadn't been trapped under CLU's corrupting code, locked by Tron in the quarantine file complex Flynn had built at the beginning of the Abraxas viral attack in the outlands along with a large number of strays that he had rounded up for the Users to sort through.

He walked down the line, scanning each for damage.

_Reko, that's his name! _

He recalled the program's name recalled only after scanning the program and having the designation appear on his helmet HUD. Some dropped their gaze nervously when he came close, and he realized that his helmet probably still made them nervous. These were the sort of program that Rinzler had hunted down and derezzed on a regular basis, and fear clung more than any programming.

[Swam neutralized.] He announced simply, letting them know they were free to go. Immediately cycles rezzed, and he turned to leave himself. A voice stopped him, though.

"Hey, man, you look like you're about to fall over! You could use a jumpstart, and I know a place that could help you out." The User terminology caught him by surprise, though it shouldn't have- he'd discovered that the two brief forays of Sam Flynn into the Grid had circulated some new vocabulary through the Grid.

The speaker was an earnest-looking program lacking any form of armor, contraband or otherwise, hanging back with a few of the others. Tron was at first surprised they wanted him tagging along with whatever they had planned, but a long time ago the rowdier members of the Guard had been the same way, entire squads going out, usually to wind up falling-over overcharged, and also to possibly locate some female partners for other downtime activities. It had become their sport to try and drag him along. For a second he stood there, filled with an aching, deep sadness. He rarely let himself mourn all those that he'd lost, as if fearing it would overwhelm him, but that loneliness would still hit him from behind every few cycles.

He sighed, derezzing his helmet.

"I -"

A shiver ran through the system, jolting him to his source code in an unforgettable surge of energy. Instinctively they all turned to watch the Portal flare bright. His words died in his throat, and he was rezzing his cycle within the nano, rocketing away towards the rezzing User's point of materialization, his databases instantly updated to include the new data. It had been adjusted since he'd rezzed back onto the Grid; set back to the arcade in Epsilon, which he'd finally cleaned up enough to take out of lockdown.

[Maybe another time,] he sent apologetically to the programs he'd just left. He'd hoped Alan-1 had come back to the Grid- he wanted to show his User the world he had helped create and had protected, and that now he was helping to heal. He wanted him to see all the things that were finally going _right, _the shimmering rivers of energy that had been dry for thousands of cycles, the calm, cleansed Sea, the programs laughing and learning to live a life worth existing for all over again. Disappointment pricked at him when the system only registered Quorra.

_Perhaps it's just as well. _Of all the programs hurt by CLU, and by him, she was one of the ones that had suffered the most.

[I have a few things to take care of.]

* * *

><p><em>Bored. <em>

Not once since he arrived in the User world had he been able to say he'd suffered from boredom.

…_Until now. _

Forbidden to leave the laser bay, he and Gem were to remain here, waiting on Quorra's return. They had been given a communication device known as a 'cell phone' and the emergency number necessary to use it to contact Alan (who was trapped in long series of ENCOM board meetings along with Sam, whatever those were) if she did not return within the specified amount of time. He had his orders and normally that would have been all he needed, but this was sitting around in a small room with a prickly Siren doing _nothing. _

Said Siren was currently immersed in a small, flat device identified as a 'Kindle' belonging to Quorra, leaving him to his own devices. The novelty of having been drenched by the summer downpour in the run from the car to the arcade had worn off. He'd committed every detail of every surface in the room to memory. He knew the number of keys in the Grid's keyboard and the order they occurred in, the number of cobwebs in the corners-

"Would you _stop that!?" _He froze, pinned by Gem's frosty glare. For a moment he looked at her, confused, before realizing he'd been tapping out the rhythm to a song he'd heard on the radio some time during the blur that had been the last two days on the laptop's plastic casing, sped up to somewhere near two hundred percent its original tempo.

He gave her a too-innocent look that said, _stop what? _But relented nonetheless, deciding it really wasn't worth the trouble to continue to antagonize her.

He really had no idea where Gem's fabricated identity stopped and the ISO underneath started. _Not that it matters anymore. _The game he'd been forced to play for the past few thousand cycles was over- no longer did he have to run for other programs, scrounging energy in return for rumors and memories that the Basics with power outside of CLU's henchmen could afford to pay for. It was just as well- it wasn't a game one wanted to play.

He tried to imagine what his life would be like now that the system was running as it should. He'd have a steady line of work from the Users, and a guarantee of enough energy to sustain him. No more illicit spying or patch upgrades. _Might get a little boring. _He'd quickly adapted to function without true purpose- those who didn't hadn't lasted long after the coup- and going back to how things were meant to be would require some adjusting of its own.

_Well, a change in pace never hurts._

A sudden fear stabbed at him though- what if he had no place in the future of the Grid? He was an older program, though he'd barely been out of beta testing when Flynn, friend of a friend of the User who wrote him (he'd never actually run for J_Henry74, so it was hard to think of him as _his _User) had installed him on the Grid. That had been a long time ago, and he was sure there were better programs for his job by now.

Logic stated he'd simply be repurposed; find a new niche in the system. Repurposing had a nasty stigma attached these cycles, though, he thought. A memory of Rinzler, grating purr harsh and sinister, flashed through his mind.

"What are you reading?" He asked suddenly, trying to distract himself from his own thoughts. Gem looked up, face caught between annoyed and surprised. She looked back to the screen she held, obviously considering whether to deign him with an answer.

"It's about a User girl who falls in love with a type of fictional creature- kind of like a virus- that feeds on the blood of Users." _What? _

"…that is the most disgusting idea for a story I've ever heard of." Kaps managed after sitting stricken for a couple of minutes. Really, what sort of User would come up with something like that?

"Why would someone fall in love with a- never mind, why are you reading a book about it? Why did _Quorra _even have a book like that in that thing?" Gem had the familiar _you are too bit-brained to be in the same file as me _look going and he knew that no matter what she was or wasn't, that face was genuine.

"You wouldn't understand- it's beyond your programmed parameters, I'm sure." She told him smugly. Now it was his turn to glare. The ISO continued to read, unperturbed. Several long minutes passed in silence, and then-

"And she didn't have it on here. All she had was a bunch of boring science fiction novels. I had to figure out how to buy new ones. All the data I needed was already saved into this thing."

" You bought new books with her credit card…real nice, Gem. That's about one step up from being a hacker program." He had only recently figured out the 'credit card' thing himself, having watched Alan buy fuel for the car with it.

"Why are you still talking to me, Kaps?"

"I'm bored!"

"Be bored quietly." _I liked you better when you sulked in a corner and just sat there silently giving everyone dagger eyes. _Which was how Gem had spent her first day in the User world, more or less. She'd barely registered in his peripherals at the time- he was too busy trying to take in as much of Olympus as he could- but she had a way of radiating sheer _I hate you all _just sitting there that sort of clung to anyone who came too close and he'd been vaguely aware that Gem wasn't enjoying the incredible, strange world they found themselves in at all.

Quorra had persevered; insisting on talking to her, showing Gem things like chocolate, Boston Terriers and, Quorra's favorite thing of all, the miracle known as the sunrise. She loved the sun; the wild, uncontrollable sky in general. _I can see why. There is absolutely nothing like it. _

Initially the Siren had given clipped, monosyllabic replies to any verbal cajoling, but Quorra's easy laugh and warm smile demanded a response in kind. To his astonishment, Gem had actually begun to _lighten up- _more relaxed, less sadistic tendencies- though still he had trouble believing what he saw.

The general feeling regarding her seemed to be 'forgive and forget' among the Users, which he had to try not to resent- despite the strange changes in attitude lately, this was still the same program that had put a disk in his back. He would never try to directly get even with her for that, of course, but he still wished that somebody had said something, a rap-on-the-knuckles sort of thing. _Oh, well._

He grinned, remembering something.

"Hey, Gem."

No response.

"Watch out for those toasters."

Now she reddened ever-so-slightly, though she kept her eyes fixed firmly on the screen.

The previous morning, Gem had patiently stared down said appliance, waiting for it to transform the bread Sam had put into it into the apparently preferred 'toast'. Kaps guessed she'd lost focus and drifted off into thought, because when the toaster ejected the toast the Siren had jumped back- actually, violently leapt back, as if bitten, in total surprise, practically landing in Sam's arms, despite his heroic attempt to get out of her way.

Kaps had learned what it was like to get a stitch from laughing.

"Hey, Kaps." He looked over at her, smug. _Come on, we both know I didn't do anything that-_

"Glass doors are still doors." …_stupid. _His less advanced, User AV feeds were actually terrible at picking up on transparent objects, and he had run head on into a sliding glass door at Alan's house, after Sam decided one ISO was his flat's max capacity for programs and had convinced Alan to take them for the time being. The door had survived, and so had Kaps, but he was sure the door had won. _Is a basic proximity scanning feature too much to ask for?_

"Marvin." He said simply in reply. Gem recoiled at the word, eyes narrowed.

"That little monster!"

"Little is right, I've seen bigger Bits!"

"He was _sniffing _me!"

"You didn't need to kick him!" He asserted contemptuously.

"He looks like a _gridbug!" _

"Well, that just changes everything, _security program. _Quorra and Sam were honestly considering tossing you out on the street after that."

"They wouldn't!"

"You kicked Sam's companion accessory-program in its nose! Marv was just being friendly!"

"I've kicked a lot of programs that were 'just being friendly' in far more sensitive places." She told him, completely remorseless.

"You're an unholy menace."

"I'm a political refugee from a genocidal state!"

"So is Quorra, but I don't see _her _kicking puppies!"

They glared at each other, but there wasn't much real hostility left in either of them after thousands of cycles of fighting to survive in their own ways. _Though she seems to have some special reserve of venom for emergencies. _

_And_ _speaking of Quorra…_

"Do you know why she snuck off to the Grid, anyway?" Gem shrugged, feigning a sulky disinterest.

"What do you mean, _snuck off?_" She finally asked, curiosity winning out.

"She waited 'till Sam and Alan were both busy, and then she dragged both of us here with no notice. What's she doing in there?" This was an interesting line of code, now that he processed it a little, and he wasn't letting it go. Before he could say anything more though, Gem spoke up again.

"We all have things we want closure on. Sometimes the only way to get it is to find it on your own." He gave her a blank stare.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He said, wondering if he was missing something.

"Haven't you ever wanted to be alone, with just you and whatever you really need to do to make everything right?" She asked, her tone shifting towards defensive. Kaps shrugged.

"I'm usually alone, and there's nothing I can do that will make 'everything right'. I do what I can to get by, if that's what you're saying. Is this some ISO thing?"

"…I didn't think so. Perhaps it is." Silence for a moment more, and then he realized-

"Maybe not, though. Maybe that's what Tron was doing_." _He remembered the driven edge to the way Tron talked and moved, as if he knew he was supposed to be somewhere else. There was some invisible pull dragging him back into the Grid and whatever demons of his lurked there.

"Are you done talking now? Users, I need earplugs." _Okay, I guess she exhausted her Civil Conversation quota for the day. _He sighed, fingers drumming again, the glowing Grid screen grating at his eyes.

As much as he was loath to admit it, he owed the Siren one, in a way. Without her sending him out to find answers, Tron might have derezzed on the shores of the Sea, damaged and weak as he was. Without Tron, the Users would never have rezzed anywhere near Gamma, in all likelihood.

If she hadn't gotten it into her processor to do whatever she came here to do (he had the feeling he was still on the Grid when her mysterious plot was aborted) he knew nothing of it and he didn't think asking would go over well), he would never have wound up here, seeing and doing things most program's couldn't even imagine.

_Well, I would have owed her something if she hadn't canceled it out by stabbing me in the back. Okay, less of a 'stab' and more of a poorly aimed disk throw but still. _He couldn't say that he felt betrayed; they'd never really been on the same side, after all, but realizing just how dispensable he was to the program he'd worked for long enough to think of as an 'employer' and not a 'client'… it stung, more than he liked to admit.

_Get over yourself, _he told himself.

_It doesn't matter anymore._

* * *

><p>She was uncertain and wary- afraid she had made one of two mistakes, or both.<p>

One, that she had left Kaps and Gem alone in the laser bay. _Some lifeline that is. _She'd be lucky if they were both unharmed with no collateral damage to the surrounding room when she returned.

And two, she had come here alone, an ISO in a hostile system.

_I can take care of myself. _Perhaps that was why she had done this- she was afraid, she realized, of being too foolish or weak to look out for others when they needed her. She remembered the sneering, jaded face of a program who'd once stood with the ISOs- she could have cost Sam his life with her misplaced trust.

She cleared her thoughts as Flynn had taught her, stretching her mind through her native form once more, embracing the familiar feel of code and data, the linear patterns and subtle complexities of her world, savoring the feeling of energy surging through her as she reconnected to the system, data relays and feeds calibrating to the Grid once more.

There was a familiar weight back between her shoulder blades, a deadly extension of her identity that she'd missed every day in San Francisco that her disk's User world copy had spent sitting with her cut-up armor in the bottom of a closet. She had her katana back now, and her grappling hooks. A faint smile lifted the corners of her lips. She felt like herself again. This was her true form, and everything else was a modification upon _this._

She loved the User world. She would never tire of it, and part of her heart belonged there now, to its wild skies and hot sun and immense cities and wide open spaces.

_But this… this is where I came from. This is where I grew up. I'm a part of the Grid, and it is a part of me. I'm glad I can love both. _

Suddenly a chill snaked up her spine, and she whirled to face the door of the lonely, disused arcade basement, suddenly aware that she wasn't alone. Ice filled her as she saw the program silhouetted in the doorway. _Rinzler_.

_No._

"Tron," she whispered lamely, somewhat stricken by his silent appearance. _How long has he been standing there?_

He looked back at her, expression unreadable, guarded, but his eyes flickered to the floor before meeting his. The Tron she remembered had never been uncertain.

"I…" His voice was rougher than it had been once, but maintained that same gentle strength she remembered. He broke off, looking away.

"The system is far safer for ISOs than it has been in over a thousand cycles," he said, tone carefully neutral.

"But I ask that you let a security program remain with you. There are sectors that could still harbor CLU's remaining loyalists and those who are simply afraid still, and a large swell in gridbug numbers as well." She stepped back, surprised. A security detail was the last thing she wanted. _No. The last thing you want is to be stranded or hurt in need of rescue. _She wanted to remind him that she had avoided detection for over a thousand cycles just fine, but she had Flynn's help then.

"Fine," she told him, forcing herself to sound relaxed.

"What security programs are left, anyways?" She asked. CLU had systematically cut down the system's security, rectifying and derezzing all, from Tron down to the most basic Sentries.

She knew what happened to the monitors who resisted, regardless of how strong or smart they were. It was surprising that Tron had found any survivors at all. Currently, said program gave a tired sigh, shrugging. It struck her then how drained he looked, leaning back against the door frame as if about to fall into recharge.

"Well, technically it's just me. I've managed to get a few volunteers with the right modifications to help with gridbugs, but mostly I've been on my own."

"Alan's left you to do take care of the Grid without any security backup?" That didn't sound like the User at all. Tron seemed to bristle slightly at the implied accusation.

"Of course not. He's restoring the surviving Guard and using them as templates to write new programs to fill out the ranks. Only a few survived until now after Reintegration. This is just temporary." She nodded.

"I won't be too long." She told him, heading towards the door where he stood and then brushing past him.

"I don't suppose you have a light runner, do you?" He followed up the stairs after her, shaking his head.

"I have an off-Grid cycle, but…" Of course, a light cycle technically could take two riders, but Quorra really didn't want to spend any more time than necessary near Tron, let alone ride with him, and she assumed the feeling was mutual.

"Runners are hard to come by. They were illegalized shortly after the Purge, and most of them were destroyed," he continued.

"I can walk." She said, striding out the doors into the light of the Grid. She hadn't seen Epsilon since before the Purge, and it was never so… quiet. She tensed instinctually; this kind of still was usually a brief prologue to a Recognizer sweep. Tron joined her, looking out over the streets.

"Epsilon was the hotspot of rebellion. Flynn's arcade was a symbol of something more, that there were Users, and that they could not be destroyed. CLU would have destroyed it himself, but he learned that if he gave rebels a symbol to cling to, they would make themselves easier to identify by associating with it." He said, looking over the empty streets.

"I remember more programs." She tilted her head at him, questioning.

"Most of the programs here were either strays, rebels or both. And there was no shortage of contraband dealers, some of whom dealt in banned vehicles as well as weapons and upgrades. Ihad to take care of them. There wasn't much left after that."

"What did you do with all of them? You didn't derezz"-

"No!" He interjected sharply, and she flinched. Of course Tron would never derezz unless he had to. _The Tron I knew, at least. _

"No," he said again, voice soft now.

"Do you remember the quarantine folders Flynn built in the Outlands, when Abraxas first emerged?" She shook her head- the coup and the outbreak had swept her up in a terrifying whirlwind of betrayal, evasion and the eventual deresolution of almost everyone she'd ever known. Whatever Flynn had been doing as she'd struggled to survive in the wake of the first viral attacks wasn't something she'd had time to look into.

"Just as well- they were never actually put to use, but the original idea was to be able to hold corrupted programs captive and figure out how to restore them and destroy the source of the viral code. I put remains of the Guard, a few badly damaged programs, and the scores of obsolete dissenters there for Alan-1 to deal with from the outside. It's also where I've been keeping everything I've appropriated from those programs, three of whom were vehicle dealers. I can get you a runner, but first we would have to get there."

There was a moment of silence, and she realized by the unfocused look to his eyes that he was using a restricted binary channel.

He turned back to her after a moment, blinking back into focus.

"One of my volunteers has a cycle she'll let you borrow. She's on her way." Within a few microcycles, a program with short black hair spiked up in front arrived astride a poorly retrofitted bike with two back wheels, almost as if a runner and a lightcycle had been clumsily fused.

She nimbly jumped off it and derezzed it back into its baton, handing it smartly over to Tron.

"It's a sorry piece of code, but it runs over just about any terrain. I could've sworn you had a better one already, though"- she broke off, eyes lighting on Quorra. She froze; bracing for whatever reaction the Basic would have to seeing an ISO, but then remembered that her code masks were still in place and her sleeve still concealed the hated circuit tattoo that branded her kind.

A knowing grin stole over the angular face of the volunteer program.

"Oh, I get it! The Outlands, how _romantic!"_That extreme misinterpretation was better than having the bright-eyed Basic understand Quorra's true nature, but she would've preferred another cover story.

"_Thank you, _Nyk." Said Tron, sending her off with a dismissive wave of his hand. She tittered and rezzed a sleek city bike, racing off undoubtedly to circulate the new gossip.

Tron tossed her the baton and rezzed his own, a stripped-down bike with a single exposed tread that circulated over both tires.

"It's a long ride," he warned her, revving its engine before taking off.

[Well, it would have been longer on foot,] she returned, struggling to wrestle her bike into the sharp turns of inner city navigation as they made their way towards the Outlands, and the quarantine facility apparently hidden out in its uncharted vastness.

Finally they were racing out in a straight line through the Outlands, throwing up dusty plumes of tiny inert data shards in their wakes. She realized that though they had talked, she and Tron had avoided saying anything that actually mattered. _I came here to get closure. That includes closure on him, too._

She knew she couldn't live with unspoken apologies and unanswered questions. But she was still deeply, instinctually afraid of him, the way a mouse fears a cat. Some instinctual, primal part of her was afraid that if she said the wrong thing, she would wake Rinzler and he would claw his way back into reality.

They rode in silence, save for the roaring of the wind and the shuddering of her bike for what felt like cycles. They rode single file, with Tron in the lead. They were near the maximum speed capacity of her bike; she couldn't have pulled ahead even if she wanted to.

Finally a shape took form on the horizon, growing larger and more defined. The quarantine file was a spare, militant compound hunkered low to the ground, though when she derezzed her bike and stood at the entrance as Tron unlocked it, it managed to loom imposingly above her, all a solid matte black, as if carved out of the Outland rock.

When Tron disengaged the locks, its surfaces flared to life, illuminated with clean white lines and searing red quarantine warnings. As the door slid up, she stepped with him into a sterile, too-bright interior that reminded her distinctly of a User hospital, which she'd thankfully only seen on television. The doors opened immediately into a small chamber, and Quorra felt an automated scan pass over her.

"_No threat detected," _A computerized voice announced, and with a faint hiss two doors in front of her slid apart to reveal a long, sterile white hallway punctuated at regular intervals by tinted glass windows set at eye level. She hesitantly followed Tron back into the complex, resisting the urge to investigate further. She shuddered at the sight of the orange lit Guards contained in the cells behind each windows.

There were others, though, Basics who glared sullenly at her and Tron, and some that looked at her pleadingly, as if to ask her for help. A pale program with darting eyes sadly watched her walk by, and she flinched back when she saw the fractured wound climbing up the back of his neck.

"Quorra, over here." Tron called to her- she'd fallen behind, lost in thought. He accessed a locker at the end of one of the halls, opening it to reveal a modest pile of batons.

"These are all the know runners left on the Grid." She took one, and then decided she would have to tell Tron what she wanted out in the wilderness sooner or later.

"Flynn had one hidden in the Outlands. Where I'm going. I only need this to get there." Tron shook his head, looking away.

"It's gone, Quorra." She looked up, filled with a new fear. What did that mean? Had the safe house been destroyed? Ransacked? Could they have traced the lightcycle Sam took to its source? He couldn't have known how to mask its signature, she realized. _How could I have been so stupid!?_

"We found the safehouse. You were gone by then. We took the runner, but CLU deemed everything else useless and we left the rest." She nodded numbly. The thought of CLU invading the one place she had felt safe in made her feel sick.

Tron turned, opening another locker. He produced another baton from it, this one a gleaming white that was starkly brilliant against his black gloves. A pang went through her- it was unmistakably Flynn's first-gen lightcycle, the one she had sent Sam to the city on.

"I found it on one of the Guard. I… thought you should have it. She took it reverently; suddenly almost unable to speak, overcome by how much she _missed _Flynn. Tears filled her eyes, and she ducked her head, hastily smearing them away.

"…thank you," she managed, fighting to regain her composure.

Tron

_Flynn's whoop from ahead helped him hone in on the User's position within the lightcycle grid, and he swooped in from behind before flipping the panel he was on and riding inverted directly below Flynn._

"_Not cool, man! That has gotta be cheating!"_

"_Flynn, you called this a 'free-for-all'." _

"_Well in _that _case," Flynn started, and Tron could almost see the big, mischievous grin on the User's face,_

"_WE DANCE!"_

What is that supposed to- _he was thrown first by that seemingly senseless exclamation, and then more literally by Flynn flipping the panels constantly, so that the system spun dizzyingly around him even as he maintained the same speed._

_There was definitely some User power going into getting the Lightcycle Grid to do this, and Tron regretted using the term free-for-all anywhere near Kevin Flynn._

Warning: Equilibrium failure in five… _Tron was beginning to lose awareness of up and down. _ Well, Flynn, this has been fun… _Tron slammed the brakes on his bike, flaring the spoilers out and screeching back to a near-halt, sending Flynn spinning away on his own, Tron in hot pursuit._

_Barely five nanos later he managed to set himself up to use a speed strip to launch up next to Flynn and tag him then. _

_He executed his launch perfectly, sailing above Flynn and just as he landed next to him, hand outstretched to tag the User-_

"_WHOA, NO TRACTION!" Suddenly error messages flashed across his HUD as the cycle lost all of its traction, the grid rendered totally smooth, tires spinning uselessly as he skidded out of control._

"_FLYNN!" The untouchable white bike shot off across the grid, rider howling with laughter._

Tron stared for a moment longer at the baton cradled in the hands of an ISO, and nodded stiffly at her thanks, pretending he didn't see the tears gleaming in her eyes. He had turned it over and over in his hand in disbelief when he'd found it, sitting back and letting the memories of hundreds of adventures, stupid User stunts and thousands of games of lightcycle-tag, the idiotic but fun game Flynn had introduced to the Grid, wash over him.

It was only right that Quorra should have that same link to a happier past that he had. She looked at it, eyes glittering with unshed tears still, and then she clipped it to her empty baton holster and turned sharply and strode out the door, leaving him standing alone.

_She's hurt, more than she wants me to see. There has to be something I can do to help._

* * *

><p><em>AN: I live! I am so, <em>so _sorry this has been such a long time coming. I was clobbered with a huge writers block for a few weeks, and then some switch flipped and I've gotten eighteen pages down- in fact, I cut this chapter short because I felt like at some point chapter 19 had ended and I just hadn't got the memo and had kept on writing. _

_So, I hope this is a somewhat coherent chapter despite that. A little more world building, working towards the resolution of the story arc, with some fun. I know I didn't focus very much on their misadventures in the User world, as that's not really the focus of this story, but I wouldn't be opposed to writing something like that separately. _

_Many thanks to all of you who've valiantly stuck with me and keep coming back for more and to Cyberbutterfly, Elz Durzen, AvidReader403, Sonta IX, STRiPESandShades and Mata Nui and several awesome Guests for reviewing. Hopefully the next update will be much sooner, as I already have a decent start into it._


	22. Last Words

Quorra

She waited for Tron only until the compound doors sealed shut behind him, and then she rezzed the runner and rocketed off, weaving between jutting outcroppings and fissures. _So much for talking to him. _She had adopted the fight or flight impulsiveness that had saved her before- and got her into trouble more often than not.

_Clear_ _your_ _mind_, she could almost hear Flynn saying.

_Eliminate everything but the problem from your mind, and then learn to understand it so you can fix it. _

She adopted the deep, slow breathing she'd been taught. _I'm looking for you even though you're gone. _

When she was with Sam, she didn't think these thoughts. When she was programming at ENCOM, she didn't think about the Grid. But here, navigating through the Outlands, it was just her and her fears.

…_And Tron._

The runner's basic proximity scanner picked him up following behind her on his own bike, letting her maintain the lead. She knew where to go. An alarm sounded- there was drop coming up ahead of her, a fissure stretching down deep into the system base code. She smoothly brought the runner to full speed without hesitation, hurtling over the yawning chasm. Her dauntless charge belied the thrill of fear that shivered through her, pounding with increasing apprehension through her circuits the closer she came.

Then, she was airborne.

Time always seemed to slow down when she was suspended over a large drop.

She couldn't resist a feral grin as her tires bit back into the ground and she roared forward, scanning again to see what Tron would do despite herself.

The program had scanned ahead and seen the fissure coming before she had, and started an easy turn around it a while ago and was now accelerating back up to maintain his position behind her.

She could see him again behind her, a dark form with a few bright points of light unwavering and unrelenting.

_My way was still more fun. _

It wasn't much longer before they reached the safehouse.

She slowed the runner when she got close, slowly cruising up the familiar tunnel to the garage where she left the runner still-rezzed out of habit. Flynn had preferred things tangible, dependable, 'real'. His lightcycle had stayed parked and rezzed; initially she had assumed it to be broken.

His use of the term 'real' had confused her for the longest time; it was only when she realized that her world wasn't reality to him that she began to understand him, and, in a way, why CLU had turned on him.

_She gasped, power flaring painfully through her system. Disjointed data flooded her processor- _

_Onmyback-_

_Voice-_

_Faceaboveme-_

_Whathappened-_

"_Easy, easy. You're safe, you're okay." A rough, familiar voice told her as strong hands helped her sit up. She struggled to get her vision to focus on the face, recognize that voice. The world was spinning, but quickly it stopped and trickles of information formed coherent thought._

"_Flynn," she whispered as her memories snapped back into place, the disorientation beginning to fade. He smiled sadly, nodding._

"_You were on the brink when I found you. Did you see the other side of the tunnel?" Confusion raced through her. Was she forgetting something still?_

"…_tunnel?" _

"_Never mind." Suddenly she did remember something else, and her heart sank._

"…_Anon?" She'd seen him derezz. There were some things even a User couldn't undo. Flynn's shoulders sagged, and he shook his head. _

"_By the time I found the Recognizer wreck, there wasn't anything left to save." She nodded numbly. She hadn't had hope of his survival, but she still had to hear it before she would ever accept it._

"_Where are we?" He led her from the room she'd rebooted in to a larger central area, with a transparent wall that looked out on the desolate Outlands she had laid down to die in, and the gleaming Grid beyond. The sky was dark, as if the force of power exerted by the coup alone had extinguished the Portal. _

"_Home," he told her, with a grim resignation._

"_Welcome to the only safe place left on the Grid, my friend."_

At first the safehouse appeared undisturbed, though she had the eerie feeling of its invasion, of something being _wrong_. Her eyes picked out details one at a time- the silver bowl with its metallic simulated apples was overturned; the gleaming, mirrored things scattered across the table and the ground. Without thinking she straightened the bowl and restored the apples their place, seeking some normalcy.

A lamp had been knocked off its stand, shattered on the ground. It was fixed, inert code that would retain its shape after damage, emulating the User world equivalent- the 'real thing'. She looked at the pieces hopelessly; there was no way to fix that mess. _Not that there is any real reason to fix it, of course. None of this matters anymore. _

Perhaps Sam and Alan would come through here to look for Flynn's research or clues to the secrets of the ISOs, but she planned on walking away and never coming back. She wanted this part of her life to be over.

Before leaving, she looked back over her private room one last time, and something caught her eye. A gleaming audio file data card was lying on her bed, untouched by CLU. His forces must not have searched back here.

With a trembling hand, she picked it up and synced it to her disk. _File loading… load complete._

"_Whoever finds this, get it to Sam Flynn, Alan Bradley, Quorra or Tron, if he's still out there, somewhere. If I never came back and destroyed this file, that probably means, - _Quorra stopped the playback, throat tight. _He knew he was going to die. He knew it and he left this for us. _

She didn't want to hear this alone. She couldn't hear it alone. This wasn't just for her- it was for those closest to Kevin Flynn, the ones he'd hurt the most.

She left the room with quick, urgent strides. There was nothing left for her here but old memories and old sadness. She hesitated in the main area though; the Go board left untouched from her last unfinished match caught her eye. She knelt down next to it, sitting as she had so many times. Despite everything, a small smile ghosted around the corners of her mouth as memories of long cycles spent trying each other's wits and patience came rushing back unbidden.

_The first sign of a healing heart is the ability to remember someone you've lost with happiness,_ Flynn had told her a long time ago.

"Quorra?" She leapt with a cry around to face the source of the voice, disk energizing in her hand and flying towards where her adversary's neck would be. A hand shot out and caught her wrist in a fighter's grip tight enough to hurt a little. She looked beyond the black gloved vice with its delicate, skeletal circuits to find herself eye to eye with Tron.

He seemed just as surprised as she was; eyes wide and concerned. Her disk clattered to the ground and she gaped at him for a moment, petrified with surprise and a sudden, irrational terror.

He let go, backing up slowly, as if not to startle her again. She scrambled to snatch up her disk and fled, racing back towards her runner.

"Quorra, wait!" He called after her, and she slowed for a heartbeat, hesitant. Tron had the voice of someone who should be listened to. But she persisted; continuing to the waiting vehicle, and was about to climb in when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She whipped around to face him, poised to knock him away.

"Please," he said, voice gentle despite the faint distortion.

"I want to help you."

"Do I need help?" What did he know?

"I don't think you found whatever you were looking for, did you?" She shook her head, shrugging.

"I don't even know why I came here. I'm not looking for anything." He gave her a searching look, and she couldn't meet his eyes.

"You had a reason in mind when you talked yourself into coming here alone." She drew back, surprised by the accuracy of the program's assertion.

"I guess I just wanted closure, okay?"

"Did you find it?"

"Yes." She said shortly, wanting to leave it at that and go. It wasn't true, of course, and after a moment she relented.

"Not really." He didn't say anything, and her thoughts went back to the audio file.

"But I did find something…else."

Tron

The audio card was small and inglorious, but Quorra held it with reverence.

"Flynn left it. In case he didn't come back," she told him, voice tight and fragile.

"Did you play it?" He managed through the mire of mixed emotions that surged through him unbidden.

"No… not yet. I didn't want to, alone." He would understand if she heard it from the safety of the User world, in the company of Alan-1 and Sam, and if he never got to hear Flynn's final message, then perhaps that was only some form of justice.

But, he was Flynn's friend. –_Was- his friend, at least. _He couldn't simply walk away.

"Would you mind if I listened to it?" He heard himself ask, and she looked up at him, eyes flickering over his face, as if searching for hidden intent. He remembered a time when programs hadn't looked at him like that; mistrustful, wary. He often felt as if those were someone else's memory files.

"Here," she said, and pressed it into his hand. It was light and delicate, and he felt afraid that he might break it. _It is probably not intended for me. Not for me to hear. _

_He was my friend. He would understand. _

"I don't want to stay here," said Quorra, climbing into the runner. Tron nodded, snapping from his reverie, tucking the card safely into his pocket.

"I'll follow you out." She dipped her head in acknowledgment and gunned away down the tunnel, and he rezzed his bike and fell in behind her. He allowed a rumbling growl of suppressed frustration from the last half cycle to seep out from deep in his throat. His exhaustive duties, the quarantine complex full of his old friends, trapped like the viral, corrupted creatures they'd become, and now, this.

She was horribly, deeply scared of him, and he hated that. He wanted to be worth trusting, but he feared that he would never again be able to say that he was. _What could I ever say that could counter what I've done?_

[Are you leaving now?] He sent to her, realizing that there was no reason for her to stay.

[Yes. Are there any Solar Sailors still operational that can take me to the Portal?] She asked as they weaved down a perilous road from the Outlands towards the distant, brilliant city.

[Only one survived the Reintegration, but yes.]

[Follow me. We can cut around the city straight to the docking platforms.] It was a long, rough drive through the undeveloped sprawl of the Outlands, but he was glad of the difficult terrain. It gave him something immediate and demanding to focus all of his processing power on, which kept him from thinking about the audio card and its unheard message. About Quorra. About Users and Black Guard and gridbugs.

Battling his skidding bike over outcrops, over fissures and up punishing inclines, he felt more relaxed than he could remember feeling in cycles.

Finally he braked to a weary halt near the darkened, looming structures the comprised the Sailor dock, last of its kind. The runner screeched to a fishtail stop behind him, Quorra nimbly leaping from it even as it derezzed neatly into its baton.

This remote dock had been shut down to save energy for over a thousand cycles; Tron helplessly scanned it for any activation sequences, finding nothing but dormant code. It was registered as functional, but perhaps that was just a glitch… He remembered with some irritation how solar sailors used to be; not nearly so complicated. Less ornate, but just as efficient.

_Yori would know what to do._

He hadn't even tried to open his mind to those old, guarded and long forbidden memories as of now- once the Grid was safe and free of chaos he would fully reintegrate them into his memory. But a flicker of data occasionally flashed through his processes nonetheless. He was scared of them- they were ancient, and they were his foundation, but he knew somehow that they were full of unhealed wounds, and that fully recalling them would her.

He realized Quorra was scanning the structure too; eyes wide and thoughtful. He watched her, curious. ISOs had an instinctive understanding of the Grid beyond data and protocols- almost communicating with the system on a subconscious level. It was beyond his understanding, but Flynn said that Users- humans- had once been similarly in tune to their own world, but had grown apart from that primal part of themselves in their quest for higher understanding.

She knelt User-style, accessing the source code of the Sailor docks, eyes flashing across the data as fast as she could process it, hands whirling as she searched and manipulated the code, prodding at every insignificant function. Tron leaned back against the base of one of the darkened towering cranes that had once lowered cargo cars onto the Sailors, impressed. Nanocycles later, surge of power rippled through the station as it connected back to the Grid power supply, white and blue light flickering across every surface. Quorra stood, awe shimmering in her eyes at what she had brought to life.

…_How did she do that so fast?_

Tron often had forgotten the true power of the ISOS- they had the forms of programs, but without the restrictions of function and purpose. There was nothing to limit what they could do save for the system's limits and whatever permissions Flynn hadn't seen fit to give them. If it could be learned, then they could do it. He had almost forgotten why CLU had feared them so much.

"This way," he called over to her, and headed for the entrance to the ready Sailor, its delicate sails unfurling.

He had been at a loss with the code of the Sailor's docks, but he knew how to pilot the ships themselves, and he set the controls in the back to maintain a steady heading for the Portal and then left the console, walking to the back of the cargo section and stood there, watching the city steadily grow smaller. He felt the faintest shiver of unease at the sight of the churning Sea below him.

Quorra seemed to have gravitated straight to the front of the Sailor, where she sat, framed by the elegant sails.

Assured that he was effectively alone, he drew the audio file from the pocket he'd tucked it into and started the file.

"_Whoever finds this, get it to Sam Flynn, Alan Bradley, Quorra or Tron, if he's still out there, somewhere. If I never came back and destroyed this file, that probably means I'm not coming back. _

_So, first of all, let me apologize for that._

_If you find this, CLU, all I ask is that you listen. You have questions I never answered, so many things I know you wanted me to explain. I never let you understand that sometimes I didn't have the answers you needed. What you did was no more than a response to your directive based on the information you had. And I don't expect you to be sorry for that._

_I gave you a directive that cannot be carried out. And for the longest time, neither of us knew it. But now, I need you to understand that there is no perfection in the User world, if you haven't seen that for yourself by now. That's because there can never be the perfection we both once believed in- it does not exist. Perfection is there, though- it's all around us- in every small miracle that makes life possible, but it can never be absolute, controlled. _

_I hope you're still listening. This isn't what you wanted to hear, man. I know that. But I also know you can change, CLU. The fact that you're still here is proof of that._

_So I'm going to ask you to do what no program has ever done. Change your directive. Free yourself of our mistakes- it might be too late for me, but it's not too late for you. Just... don't be angry at Sam for what I've- what _we've – _done. This isn't his fault._

_There's so much more I want to say, CLU, but I can't. There is no time left for me. It's over." _

Tron wondered if Flynn was right. But if there was one program capable of truly changing their own nature, it was CLU, who had easily changed the purposes and broken the wills of others. He wondered what the Grid would have been like if the Admin ever gotten the chance to hear this final message.

Flynn's voice continued.

"_CLU wasn't the only program who would've been better off if I'd stayed on my side of the screen._

_I haven't seen Tron since that night, the night of the coup. Sometimes when I close my eyes to sleep I see everything happen again, and there I am frozen, useless to stop it._

_Sometimes I don't think he's dead. Surely I would feel something- the system would just _know_ that it had been mortally wounded. If CLU didn't destroy him though, I can imagine the alternative was worse._

_In fact, there's a security monitor, and enforcer who's come to prominence- a program they call Rinzler- that could be him, or at least, _was _him. _

_I can't run a system scan, find out anything that way, because they could triangulate it back to here, to me. I hope it's not him. I tell myself he's dead and gone, data in the wind, so I don't think about what CLU- what I- am capable of. Isn't _that _pathetic. I'm blind out here- I don't even know what happened to one of my best friends. He and Alan, they could be anywhere, dead or alive, and I'll never know now. Never say goodbye._

_Never get to say I'm sorry. _

_But if Tron survived, he would've raised hell trying to save me. He never, ever stopped fighting once he'd started. He knew CLU was more powerful than him when he told me to run. I know that wherever he is, whatever's happened to him, he'll never stop trying to end CLU._

_If he ever hears this, I want him to know he's the best goddamn security program ever written." _

He closed his eyes, head hung low, remembering CLU ripping away from him with his last baton, his last chance. An avenging spirit of black and gold that had risen into the dark sky as he fell helpless and weak into the Sea to derezz. Unable to save the User, the Creator, his _best_ _friend_.

_I wish I'd been able to tell you that I am sorry as well._

Would Flynn have still said these things if he'd known when this recorded? Known that it was Tron who had slaughtered thousands of ISOs at CLU's command?

"He's right." Tron started, whirling to face the source of the voice. Quorra leaned against the rail of the Sailor, eyes far away.

Quorra

Tron's eyes widened in surprise when he saw her; it was impossible for most programs to sneak up on security monitors undetected. His gaze hardened at her words and dropped to study the audio card, pausing the playback.

"If that was true, then"-

"Stop." She cut him off, and he fell silent, eyes questioning her. Her next words came in an unbidden rush.

"When the rest of us just ran, you, a program, a Basic, did what two Users and an ISO were too scared to even try! You never stopped fighting, even when the Creator did." There was some anger in her voice, she realized, not for Tron but for herself. She hadn't fought, she had hidden and run from the spreading corruption destroying the Grid.

She was an ISO, she was powerful in ways that she didn't always understand.

But something about Tron made him stronger, even though he was carved from rigid, breakable code that could not evolve or change, that was so easily warped. _And yet here he is._

"Do you really believe that? You were in the Outlands for most of the Purge. You didn't see what I did." She looked him in the eyes, though his sharp, haunted gaze made her flinch back. She didn't look away; she was done running, done avoiding, done being scared.

"You fought for us when we'd given up on ourselves." She looked sadly at the audio card, the last words of her mentor and only friend for so long.

"He left the safe house that cycle knowing he was going to die. All he wanted was for me and Sam to get out of here. You gave him that. His last wish. After all he did for me, I never came even close to doing something like that for him. "We all wish we did things differently." Her voice threatened to break, and she blinked away the burning tears in the corners of her eyes.

"But it doesn't matter. Time only works in one direction." She whispered, so faintly she wondered if he'd even heard her. The Portal shone brilliantly in front of them as they neared their destination, the data beam intersecting it, lost in the column of raw energy and information, drawing nearer.

Tron turned, heading for the console to stop the Sailor. She walked down the long ship until finally she stood poised to leap into the light, a thrill of nerves racing through her. She slowly unhooked her disk, tensing before the drop-

"Quorra!" She paused- the security monitor had run up to join her, and stood at a hesitant distance.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" His eyes searched her face earnestly; and though. A small smile flickered around the corners of her mouth, weary but happy somehow.

"I think I did." He nodded, and his face told her he had something else to say, but he remained silent. She cocked her head; he turned back.

Tron

She was a brilliant silhouette against the blinding glow of the Portal, he could barely see the features of her face; hear her words. His words came of their own accord-

"Did you find what you were looking for?" She gave him a smile that was too tired for someone still so young, but it was real, and he knew that whatever things had driven her here no longer haunted her, including him. The fear in her eyes had hurt as much as any injury, and the inescapable knowledge that she was right to fear and hate him drove that blade home.

But it seemed to have fallen away, and he didn't understand how she had made her peace. He was a long way from finding his. _Perhaps not as far as I thought._

"I think I did," she said, and he wanted to tell her, to tell her that- but he had paused too long, and she closed her eyes and backed off the edge of the Sailor and fell into the Portal.

"I fight for the ISOs!" He finally cried out after her, wondering if she could hear the one promise he should've made a long time ago, that had been implied, but never spoken, never proclaimed.

_I will derezz before I fail again._

Her disk slipped from her fingers and rose into the torrent of raw data, her eyes closed, features relaxed, as if meditating.

"And I will always protect you!" Her eyes flickered open and locked onto his for the briefest of heartbeats. _You don't need to be scared anymore, _he willed her to understand.

Quorra's frame vanished in a blaze of light and a roar of power, and Tron was alone by the Portal.

There was another shivering surge as she left the Grid; as the system registered the loss of one of its own. The sails had derezzed and restructured on the other end of the ship as it reconfigured to its new course. He'd set the Sailor to reverse its course and return to the docks, and it was already pulling away, headed back to shore. Suddenly indecision gripped him; now he had something to show to his User. The system he was working so hard to restore, and had come so far with.

Perhaps it was time to return. The span between him and the Portal grew wider. He could still jump. He scrambled to choose as his window of opportunity began to close. He'd never even _been _this close to the Portal-

[Tron? Where are you? There's been an incident in Epsilon, with some monitor type program that showed up outta nowhere…]

He turned and headed back to the console, nudging the Sailor up to full speed, headed for the city.

There would be other chances.

_AN: I've been looking forward to a good confrontation scene with Tron and Quorra for several chapters, and like most things I've 'looked forward' to writing, all it meant was 'extra difficult with a side of hair pulling and swearing'. Whoever said that all you had to do to learn to write was read is _so wrong _it's not even funny… _

_Hemingway put it better when he said 'writing's easy- all you have to do is sit down in front of a typewriter and bleed.' Pardon any minor paraphrasing of that quote._

_Anyway, I just started high school last week, so I'm amazed I've been able to write at all. _

_Thanks for hanging in there, guys!_

_(Especially Zuzanny, 3LW00D and TeenageMutantNinjaHamster for reviewing chapter nineteen!)_


	23. Still Alive

...I'm doing science and I'm still alive!

Seriously, I have been writing through this ridiculously long hiatus, brought on by ninth grade accelerated classes, orchestra, horse shows and looming swim team season. I plan to have the next chapter up within a week, and I am still committed to seeing this through.

And, we are after all TRON fans... we waited twenty-eight years for a sequel... so from _that _perspective, I'm a fast writer, right?

Kaps: You're still slow, Disney is just more evil.

Kaps: And can I have more dialogue in this chapter?

Me: You're not even quite a main character!

Kaps: I shall bring writer's block down upon you if I'm sidelined all chapter again!

Me: You can't do that! You're a figment of my imagination!

Kaps: And a writer's block is just an abstract concept that still manages to rule your eating and sleeping happens.

Me: You are the worst muse ever given to a writer.


	24. End of Message

Sam's mind was still whirling with estimated figures and stocks and inter-company politics when he finally reached his flat, and he ambled towards the fridge autonomously, vaguely wondering if there was any pizza left from a few days ago.

"Hey, Sam." he nodded absently to Quorra's greetings.

"Hey." Alan and he had both had misgivings about leaving two ISOs and one Basic on their own, but some meetings couldn't be dodged, and Quorra had been in the User world long enough to hopefully keep all three of them out of trouble for the day.

"Have you been keeping tabs on Kaps and Gem?"

"Yes!" A cheerful third voice called over form another room. Sam turned to stare at Kaps, and Quorra gave him a sheepish smile.

"And they are in my house _why_…?"

"They were bored."

"Why couldn't they be bored at Alan's?" Kaps he didn't really mind, but Gem… Quorra seemed willing enough to reconcile with her, however that was possible, but as far as Sam was concerned, this was the same ISO who had betrayed him and sold him to CLU, who had easily turned on a program that she had employed the second he wasn't neccesary. She came here to wipe the Grid, to destroy everything his father had dreamed of. If Alan and Quorra wanted to take her in, that was their choice, but he didn't want anything to do with it.

"Because of your gaming computer, if truth be told," she, sighing. Sam just rolled his eyes.

"I should've figured. You guys and video games, it's an unnatural affinity." His gaming computer was the best of everything he could get his hands on through ENCOM; a machine that he'd built by hand in 1993, from parts Alan had given him for Christmas in the hopes that it would give him something to focus on and a goal to work towards. _Most parents would've given me a puppy for that…_ It had been upgraded, rebuilt and overhauled countless times since then, and was less of a gaming computer than a patchwork technological masterpiece that had had its powers more often turned towards Skyrim and the like than not, usually in the business of online game hacking and such mischief.

_Alan said he'd created a monster in that regard, but really he just gave the world a new Kevin Flynn._

"So, everyone still alive? No collateral damage?"

"None." Her eyes flickered away from his, and he sensed the hesitation instantly.

"…And?" he prodded.

"I went back to the Grid."

"_What!?" _She flinched back a little, and he regretted his tone instantly.

"Why didn't you say something, you can't just"- he broke off, unsure of what to say, how to respond.

"I guess I wanted to see what it was like, since I left. I was... homesick. And I just wanted some closure." Sam barely heard her. She'd risked herself with no warning, and she could have been trapped, or hurt or…

"You should've told us," He finally got out, voice tight, painfully aware of how scared he must sound.

"None of us can just _go _there, Quorra. Especially right now." She looked at him sharply.

"Kaps and Gem were right there. They wouldn't have let anything happen to me. I can take care of myself, you know."She turned away, face set. Sam felt like an idiot. _Nice going. _He'd learned quickly that the ISO was stubbornly independent, and did not appreciate overprotection.

"If you wanted to go back, why didn't you say something? We would've gone with you." He told her, voice softer. _Why didn't you trust me enough to talk about it before running off?_

"I was only gone for a few minutes, User-time. I don't even really know why, I just felt like I _had _to. Have you ever felt that way? Just… out of nowhere"? He thought of all the time's he ran away as a kid, first from his grandparents, and then from Alan. He remembered arrests, and wriggling out of trouble. He understood needing to escape, to go out and look for an answer that didn't exist. Quorra wasn't stupid or as young as she often appeared; she really _could_ take care of herself on the Grid better than he could take care of himself.

"…I get it, Q." For a moment a relieved silence hung between them; over the past few weeks, they had become close, though Sam was still struggling to identify what kind of relationship that 'close' was. Whatever the case, arguing always frayed both their nerves.

"Did you see Tron?" She nodded, smiling.

"He decided I needed a personal security detail, and followed me from the moment I rezzed online." Sam laughed, unsurprised. He knew that attitude well- Alan had doggedly kept tabs on his exact whereabouts until he was seventeen; to the extent of custom-building a GPS tracker and wiring it to the Ducati, cleverly hidden. Admittedly, he had been the sort of trouble child who _needed _that sort of supervision more than he'd ever care to admit.

"Was he okay? I mean, he kind of took one look at the arcade and bolted, so…" Tron was running fine, of course; the security program had done an incredible amount to help him and Alan from their side of the screen already in restoring the Grid. But after actually _meeting _him, he thought that surely there was more to them than just 'running fine' to the programs he'd met. He knew how easy it could be to go through life acting the right parts to look happy and normal .

"He's better, I think. All focus and brooding, but that's just Tron." Not so long ago, Sam had been willing to contemplate deleting Tron and Rinzler as one and finding an old backup or a new firewall program for the Grid. Now, the notion appalled him. _I'm never going to be able to uninstall an old program again. No wonder Dad was so keen on just upgrading old stuff and never getting rid of outdated software..._

"We have _got_ to get him to lighten up sometime."

"Good luck with that!" He turned with Quorra to see Kaps leaning in the doorway to what Sam referred to as an 'office', but was in reality just one of the sections of his tiny flat, large enough for the computer and two people, if one stood. He gave him a look, and the program shrugged at him, unrepentant.

"Countless eons of security program killjoy instincts plus a thousand cycles of Rinzler… you'll need some luck."

"I'm a User!" He said, flinging out his arms grandly.

"…you'll improvise," finished Quorra.

"I wasn't going to say that." She gave him a long look and he huffed.

"Okay, I was thinking about it."

Quorra

Quorra didn't know how to tell Sam about the message. He'd been happy to drop the subject and if she stayed silent now he would never ask about a message he couldn't have known about, but this wasn't supposed to be her secret.

"There's something else, too," she started awkwardly, and he tilted his head questioningly, smile fading just a little. She felt Kaps' curious eyes searching her face. She hadn't mentioned it to him and Gem, she realized.

Kaps

_There's something else? Of _course _there is. _Quorra had been acting a little unusual since her last foray into the Grid. He'd written it off as something to do with complex, unknowable ISO emotions. Like all Basics, he'd spent the last thousand cycles or so hearing the echoing rumors that had ignited during the Purge. The whispers talked of erratic, violent proto-viruses that lashed out at their safe, controlled Grid with corruption and chaos.

And like most, he'd seldom actually met ISOs, so he had never really _known _how true any of it was. Quorra effortlessly defied the stigma cast before her kind; she was kindhearted, sharp as a katana, and... most unexpectedly, she had that rare, clean and sharp sort of beauty he'd never known up close. Of course, she had eyes only for Sam, he had seen at once. The User hadn't quite figured it out yet, but Kaps had been watching and listening for the tiniest hints that might give away a shred of information since before Sam's creation, and he knew the signs of interest, even though they seldom came his way.

Her words broke through his thoughts, and he listened. Whatever the ISO had found could mean nothing or anything to him, but her eyes said that to her, at least, it was important.

"Sam, he knew he wasn't going to make it before we even left the safe house, or at least he suspected it. He recorded a message and left it in the safe house to be found… after he was gone." Kaps knew who 'he' was. Sam's face clouded and he nodded silently.

"We should tell Alan. He'll want to hear it." Suddenly the User's eyes widened with realization.

"_Alan. _He doesn't know you brought them here- I left my phone off after the meeting!" Kaps froze as he heard a car tearing up to the flat before screeching to a halt. _This should be good. _He quietly vanished; slipping back into the so-called office as Alan came bursting in. It took Sam and Quorra's combined efforts to calm him down; and that took a good five minutes still.

Alan stalked past the two of them and found Gem and him, looking them over as if searching for injury. Kaps flashed a grin at him, waving.

"Sorry, should've left a note." The User rolled his eyes, casting the younger Flynn a stern look.

"Doesn't _that _sound familiar, Sam?" He turned back to Kaps.

"I supposed you were just going 'out', too?" Sam tried to hide a laugh behind a cough, but Kaps could almost hear the reference sailing over his head. He shrugged it off.

"Hey, I had dragons to slay! Flynn left a note, though," he added at the end, mostly as an old reflex. It was the strongest instinct written into him- catalogue all new information as required, and then report back. Sam had described that tendency as having a 'big ears, and a bigger mouth,' which he didn't understand, but could guess at the meaning of. Alan looked at him, then at the Grid.

"What kind of 'note'?" Said Alan, giving Kaps a searching look.

"It's an audio file he created and left for us. I guess he knew he wasn't coming back." Quorra answered before him. She was already navigating the vast corridors of the Grid manually, fingers flying over the keys as her eyes took in vast amounts of streaming code, stripped of the conventional User interface settings.

"You know, finding it again would be a lot easier if the internal systems search engine hadn't been uninstalled."She remarked, and suddenly all eyes were on Kaps. He felt a shiver of unease- being uninstalled was the preferable alternative to deresolution, but it had the same end result, that he knew of. Apparently, leaving the Grid meant that the system registered him as such. _Stranger and stranger. _

"There's no way a system this big has only one search program." Sam said, and he was right.

"There were more before the coup, quite a lot, actually. We were all specialized." Kaps admitted.

"We had our individual functions as part of the system's search function- some for finding documents, some for damaged files that were too low risk for the security programs. I was initially installed to find programs- if, for instance, they'd been saved to the wrong location, I tracked them down. We were whittled down to only the functions useful to programs after the coup. All those 'User-friendly feature' types suddenly found a new life as a Sentry."

"Then there were only a few of us left, but other obsolete programs filled the ranks quickly enough over time to escape Rectification. The system sustains its own needs. After all, it's easy to make a program into a search engine. It just requires a few upgrades, and there you go. I've had my share of cut-and-paste patches, and I was written a search engine. The system doesn't register most of them, because they're still designated to their original jobs." To his surprise, Alan was smiling, exultant. Kaps didn't find anything to smile about in admitting that he was actually quite expendable. He didn't resent it more than he should, but he certainly didn't like it either.

"If you leave a computer system running, in chaos, for over two decades with a single, impossible directive, it should crash within a week." Said Alan wonderingly.

"But what Kevin created _survived. _It evolved and it _lived_, during all that time. Programs reformatting themselves to fill niches in the system and establish order- only Kevin could have imagined it, and only he could have engineered it."

The ghost of a smile flitted around Sam's mouth.

"I guess so."

By then Quorra had located the message, and Kaps peered over Sam's shoulder to see the screen as she started the play back.

"_Whoever finds this, get it to Sam Flynn, Alan Bradley, ISO-459-desigQUORRA or TRON-JA-307020, if he's still out there, somewhere. If I never came back and destroyed this file, that probably means I'm not coming back at all."_

Kaps recognized the voice. It was the first one he remembered hearing, welcoming him to the Grid, a system like no other. Since that first microcycle, he'd never seen the User up close again. But he'd always remembered that voice, the voice of a god. Sometimes that memory was the only proof he had that Flynn really had even existed at all. Now the words where hushed and furtive, whispered hastily in the last moments Flynn had to himself.

"_So, first of all, let me apologize for that._

"_If you find this, CLU, all I ask is that you listen. You have questions I never answered, so many things I know you wanted me to explain. I never let you understand that sometimes I didn't have the answers you needed. What you did was no more than a response to your directive based on the information you had. And I don't expect you to be sorry for that."_

Flynn made a… mistake? _A grievously huge mistake?_ It was his fault that the Purge had happened? That hundreds of thousands had been put to the Rectifier? He remembered Tron as he'd found him, a twisted creature made of pain and chaos. Was that the Creators fault? Of course it was, logic told him. He made CLU. He made the entire system.

But for the first time, listening to the architect and fallen ruler of his world apologize to the monster he'd created, Kaps truly understood that the anonymous Flynn that he knew from rumors and myths was no more a god that his son- that he had destroyed the world as surely as he had created it.

Sam.

The first person- program- his dad addressed in his final words was CLU_. _The traitor, the murderer, his wayward creation. He'd taken everything from Sam, and from his dad too. Yet he didn't seem angry, just as he hadn't at the Portal on the night he died. He just seemed so damn _sorry_ for everything, which didn't undo anything or save anyone.

…why did he have to directly address CLU _first? _

"_I gave you a directive that cannot be carried out. And for the longest time, neither of us knew it. But now, I need you to understand that there is no perfection in the User world, if you haven't seen that for yourself by now. That's because there can never be the perfection we both once believed in- it does not exist. Perfection is there, though- it's all around us- in every small miracle that makes life possible, but it can never be absolute, controlled. _

"_I hope you're still listening. This isn't what you wanted to hear, man. I know that. But I also know you can change, CLU. The fact that you're still here is proof of that._

"_So I'm going to ask you to do what no program has ever done. Change your directive. Free yourself of our mistakes- it might be too late for me, but it's not too late for you. Just... don't be angry at Sam for what I've- what _we've – _done. This isn't his fault._

"_There's so much more I want to say, CLU, but I can't. There is no time left for me. It's over." _

The message wasn't, though.

"_CLU wasn't the only program who would've been better off if I'd stayed on my side of the screen._

"_I haven't seen Tron since that night, the night of the coup. Sometimes when I close my eyes to sleep I see everything happen again, and there I am frozen, unable to stop it._

"_Sometimes I don't think he's dead. Surely I would feel something- the system would just _know_ that it had been mortally wounded. If CLU didn't destroy him though, I can imagine the alternative was worse._

"_In fact, there's a security monitor, and enforcer who's come to prominence- a program they call Rinzler- that could be him, or at least, _was _him."_

Sam remembered the way his dad had half-whispered, caught between joy and sorrow- _Tron! He's alive! _He had never really believed him dead, Sam reflected; he just couldn't bear to accept that he was Rinzler.

"_I can't run a system scan and find out anything that way, because they could triangulate it back to here, to me. I hope it's not him. I tell myself he's dead and gone, data in the wind, so I don't think about what CLU is capable of doing to him. Isn't _that _pathetic. I'm a blind and deaf god out here- I don't even know what happened to one of my best friends. He and Alan, they could be anywhere, dead or alive, and I'll never know now. Never say goodbye._

"_Never get to say I'm sorry. _

"_But if Tron survived, he would've raised hell trying to save me. He never, ever stopped fighting once he'd started. He knew CLU was more powerful than him when he told me to run. I know that wherever he is, whatever's happened to him, he'll never stop trying to end CLU, to save us all._

"_If he ever hears this, I want him to know he's the best goddamn security program ever written." _

Alan

He still had trouble, every now and then, with coming to grips with the fact that his Tron, the stubborn little program that had given ENCOM back to Kevin, written out line by line on an ancient computer, was the lithe dark shadow with the jet black helmet who had dived into a collapsing building after Sam.

Listening to Kevin seemed to finally cement it all together for him, the secret world he'd just met and the reality he was a part of.

"_Somehow, Alan _has_ to know. He deserves to see this all for himself… I always wanted him to meet Tron. Now that would have been something. Every night for years, I would go home and think of how I would tell Alan tomorrow, how I would explain this project. But come morning I just… couldn't say anything when my chance came."_

Why not? That was what had been tormenting Alan since 1989- why had Flynn kept him in the dark about what he was doing? Their secrets had been few and far between, save for Kevin's 'project'.

"_I was too scared. What I was doing was so innocent to human greed and corruption, so untouched by the evils of world. And I was terrified that the second I shared it, even with my most loyal friend, I would somehow begin lose it all to the world. The military would want to exploit the Grid, and the corporate world as well. If they want it bad enough, they'll get it. I canceled the laser program just to make sure that would never happen. _

"_Don't you see? I had to give this new world time to grow and become strong, so it could not be corrupted so easily. _

"_And once the ISOs appeared, I had something new to protect."_

He'd known that part of Kevin had never really recovered from having what amounted to his life's work stolen in 1982. His career had been snatched out from under his nose, and with all his dreams and ambitions. It had given him a certain wariness that had not been there before, a paranoid edge that never let him fully trust in most of the people around him.

"_Of course, in the end it didn't matter that I kept the Grid isolated from humanity, because I gave it all the flaws and corruption it could handle and more all on my own. Isn't that the irony? That if perhaps I'd involved others, _they_ could have kept _me_ from ruining it._

"_But the one thing I have to thank you the most for, Alan, is for never giving up on me. Sam told me you still keep that old pager, though I don't think you'll need it again now. When I realized I was trapped here for good, my first thoughts were of Sam. I was afraid I'd never see him again, and I knew he would believe he'd been abandoned. It hurt like nothing I'd ever known. _

"_But I knew he was _safe_. I always knew you would be there for him, and you would keep him safe for me. _

"_There's no greater gift you could have given me than that. _

"_You deserved a better friend then I ever was. _

This wasn't the Kevin Flynn he had known. It hurt him to hear his voice as much as the words themselves. This older, rougher voice was tired and careworn, and so absolutely defeated. This Flynn had been lost for so long it had broken that wild, free spirit he'd missed so much. _How could I have let this happen? _

But how could he have ever hoped to stop Kevin? These were the thoughts that had taunted him since 1989. _I can think about it until the world ends and nothing will change. There's nothing to be done for it now. _All he could do was watch over Sam, be there for him through the tumultuous times ahead.

In the end, that was all Flynn had wanted.

Sam

"_Sam… there's nothing I can say in a few minutes to make up for all the time we've lost. But go back to the Grid for me, as a last request, if you will. I've been hiding files, thousands, since I was trapped. Every microcycle another one, embedded deep where only you can find them, every word I wanted to say is waiting for you to go and find it. _

"_Every nanocycle I've been here, I thought of you. And I have hundreds of thousands of things I want to say- but now, there's only one thing left that matters._

"_I would give everything up, everything I've ever created and discovered- just to be your dad for one more day."_

And that's all. The message cut off. Those half-whispered words, unplanned and raw, hidden and left in the hopes of discovery are his father's final farewell. Sam stared at the screen, as if he could coax a few more words from his father from it. Only then did he realize there were tear tracks running down his face. In all of those years, he had never cried for his father. He had yelled and screamed and cursed, he'd cried from pain when he was a kid, but he'd never _mourned_. When he had still clung to the belief that his dad would be come any day now, he hadn't mourned because that would be giving up.

He let go of that hope long ago, but he had still refused to mourn a father who had left him without looking back. And now, he suddenly had the wrenching impact of a loss he didn't think he'd ever face to contend with- the death of the dad he thought he'd never had- the one who loved him and had never wanted to leave him.

But through the pain, he felt _free. _He had the digital frontier in his hands, to save and recreate. He had his father's friends, his miracle, and his words to guide him.

It wasn't over when the message ended. It was just beginning.

END OF LINE

A/N:

…I can't believe that this is over- there will most likely be an epilogue. I just kind of felt like it was tying itself up neatly all of a sudden, without being too saccharine or formulaic (it still might be- feedback wanted!) The character arcs I'd worked with all came to conclusions, and the overreaching story arc has been winding down for a few chapters.

What do you think still needs to be explored before I call it wraps? Is there anything that I'm totally missing?

Thank Cyberbutterfly, Zuzanny, Sonata IX, 3LW00D, and Elz Durden for their support in reviews- it really does help provide inspiration!


End file.
